Old Man's Gamble
by pastafarian
Summary: ON HIATUS FOR MAJOR EDITING! A poor man unknowingly makes a bad deal that requires him to give up his daughter Ayla. Sensing trouble, she heads for France incognito, but finds Far Far Away is a little more interesting. Eventual ArtieOC
1. Le Petit Nicolas et Arthur

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

Author's Note: Oh, boy. This story has had an extreme makeover at least three or four times. I'm really sorry if it confused any of you. I should have thought everything through and done all of the editing prior to putting it on the site, but, well, I didn't and I hope it didn't detract from the story in the end.

1/22: I have added a tiny, tiny paragraph right before Ayla is introduced. To me, her situation had been obvious, but I just thought I'd stop hinting and start saying a little more. I hope it helped make it a more engaging first chapter. A similar change applies to Artie's introduction.

2/4: I've redone this chapter and combined it with Chapters 2 and 3. I've also condensed it and moved things around so that the flow is clearer.

For now, it seems a little more drama than humor, but sit tight! It's coming!

NOW! On with the story!

* * *

Artie flopped down on his new, king-sized bed, not even bothering to take his boots off. _Sigh. _It had been another boring day in Far Far Away. Artie had knighted a grand total of two lords, christened three ships, and had accidentally wounded no less than five people at the last event of the day so far. He thought ruefully, "Shrek wasn't kidding. You had _do _have to hit the boat just right." _Shrek. _Artie felt a twinging tug in his chest. While his Aunt Lillian had been supportive enough, he just couldn't talk to her the way he could with Shrek. (It was like, with _him_, he could say exactly what he was feeling without having to think about how this was a woman who was not only a blood-relative, but she wasn't there for the things that led up to his coronation. It was like the adventure had caused the boy and the ogre to form an unbreakable bond that went beyond words.) At first, Artie had written letters telling Shrek how great everything was, but as the boy came to realize the full force of his power and his position and all it implied, well, he had wanted to tell him, but he couldn't bring himself to write about it, so he stopped writing altogether. He knew that it had been a cowardly move, but how could he tell him that he had utterly screwed up in his decision, when he knew that it would only Shrek would feel guilty and then Artie would feel guilty for making Shrek feel guilty, who'd then, in turn, feel even worse et cetera et cetera. This, thought the young king, was one of those rare cases where two heads were definitely not better than one. 

And more besides, after the first fortnight, his brilliant Aunt Lillian -- the only other person in the castle who didn't treat him like some delicate ice sculpture -- had started fading into a fatigued and anxious stranger, and though he was dying to ask, the boy just felt as though it wasn't his place; they just weren't close enough. Artie sighed deeply. He had known that being king was more than parties and princesses, but no one told him it would be so lonely. It was times like this, when he could think without Fiddlesworth hovering about, that he missed the ogre so intensely that, sometimes, he felt his eyes grow a little wetter and his hands a little colder.

A quick rapping at his door caught his attention. "Not now, please!" Artie called out wearily. _Ugh, it's probably Fiddlesworth._ (Fiddlesworth was his tottering, yes-man of a personal servant. Needless the say, Artie avoided him at all costs.) The door creaked open and Artie put his head in his hands, massaging his temples as he sighed, "Look, I know I have a few more things for today, but I'm gonna have to ask you come back later."

As the door slowly opened wider and wider, Artie's pulse began to pick up speed. Maybe it was Shrek! Maybe he was coming to help him in his, er, kingly duties! _That's ridiculous and you know it. _Still, his heart fell a little when he saw that it wasn't, in fact, the object of his thoughts. In fact, it looked as though no one was even --

"What, is King Artie too busy to say hello an old friend?" Artie's head snapped up immediately. He only knew one person and/or magical creature with that accent. He practically jumped out of bed to greet him,

"Puss? What are you doing here?" The ginger-cat snorted,

"Well, hello to you, too." Artie chuckled, gesturing for him to sit down one of the chairs by the door.

"You know what I mean." Slowly, a quiet smile spread across Artie's face as got up to walk towards his friend, "It's good to see you. How've you been?" In all truthfulness, the two had never been that close, but in this cold, new palace, it was hard not to feel a thousand times nearer to the familiar feline.

"Not too badly, although I feel that I should be asking you that question." Artie furrowed his brow. "I'm not the one was just crowned King of Far Far Away."

"Good point," Artie replied, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Hey, cheer up, jefe. I came here for a reason." Artie gave him a sidelong glance.

"Puss, I can't just dig into the royal treasury because you lost a bet. I already feel bad about last time!"

Puss bristled a little, clearly indignant, "Artie, I only did it out of love for my Carmelita."

"You mean Manuela?" Artie interjected dryly. Puss looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Uh, yes, my Manuela." The boy snorted. "Look, Artie. I'm here to tell you that in two months, Shrek, Fiona and the babies will be here." Artie felt his lungs jolt. _Is my hearing ok?_ Puss, seemingly satisfied with his work, leapt gracefully from the chair to the door,

"Oh, and by the way, you might want to watch your clothes. They really do extra-poop."

Artie made a face as he felt a small shiver of disgust, but in actuality, even the threat of baby poo couldn't dampen his spirits. "Thanks for that, Puss."

"Any time, jefe."

**Some time later . . .**

Artie awoke with a terrible crick in his neck. Had he -- had he fallen asleep in his chair? Moonlight poured in from the oversized windows. Artie gulped. Yes, he did. He didn't know why he was so nervous; he'd only fallen asleep by accident. Approaching the bed, he couldn't help but feel as though he was forgetting something very important. Suddenly he panicked a little. What if Puss had never come in at all? Had he just dreamed it all in his desperation for a familiar face? He certainly hoped not.

"Your Majesty!" The reedy voice paused. "King Arthur!" Artie cringed at the use of his given name as the harried cries of Fiddlesworth rang through the door. "Your Majesty, the King and Queen of Visigothia are downstairs in the dining room awaiting your presence! Are you dressed yet?"

Artie looked down at his crumpled summer clothes and his mud-caked boots. "Er, well, I have clothes on -- " Fiddlesworth burst through the door, looking like someone had slipped some raw jellyfish tentacles into his afternoon tea.

"Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion, but you must be dressed and ready in ten minutes!" For a man of his weight, Fiddlesworth (or Big Nose, as Artie had labeled him in his mind, though sometimes he took to thinking of him as Fiddlesticks) made quick work of picking an outfit from Artie's wardrobe.

"Um, Bi -- er, Fiddlesworth, you realize that it's summer, right?" Artie apprehensively eyed the fur-trimmed, purple cape that had just flown out of the closet and onto his bed.

"Why, of course, Your Highness!" Fiddlesworth took a moment to look absolutely baffled before returning to the clothing hunt. He paused again, mumbling quietly to himself before tossing the regal cape back into the closet, "Yes, yes, it is a bit warm out, isn't it?" One crisp white shirt, one velvet (Artie made a barfing gesture in his head) indigo jacket, one pair of dark brown trousers, and one heavily-jeweled crown later, Artie was deemed ready. Already late, the pair hurriedly made their way down the halls, taking secret passage ways, and nearly toppling over one of the laundry women. At last, they stood in front of the giant wooden doors. "Now, remember, your Majesty, you bow three times, look them straight in the eyes, and then gesture for them to be seated. And remember to propose a toast to them twice: once at the beginning of the meal and once at the end." Fiddlesworth inhaled deeply through his nostrils. "Are we ready, your Majesty?"

Artie took some deep, cleansing breaths. "Yeah. Let's do this."

**Hours later . . .**

Fortunately for Artie, the dinner had been a lot better than he'd expected. Rather _un_fortunately, Artie was actually referring to the food. While the King and Queen of Visigothia had been (contrary to the arrogant royals he had pictured in his mind) adequately pleasant, they wouldn't stop asking about his love life!

**"So, have you declared a betrothal, yet, your Majesty?" The Queen inquired innocently as she daintily touched her napkin to the corners of her rather large mouth. Artie choked on the lamb he'd been chewing on and, for about thirty seconds, tried playing it cool, which had been pretty easy, as the Queen barely noticed anything else when she talked, and she had just found a new topic. "Oh, do you remember our betrothal, dear?" The corpulent, mustachioed Queen cheerily nudged her stick-like husband, who only smiled mildly in response.**

**"How could I forget?" Artie would have laughed, if he didn't have a hunk of roasted lamb caught in his throat, but a few seconds and three cups of wine later, Artie had managed to dislodge the food chunk. It was probably more wine that he should have had, but it had been the only liquid within his reach. "So," the man turned to Artie, who was still wheezing a little, "what do you think of it, being king?"**

**"Honey!" The Queen reprimanded him tightly out of the corner of her overly-rouged mouth, "You really ought to address him properly!" She shot her husband a meaningful look.**

**"No, it's okay!" Artie interjected, "I'd really prefer it if you would just call me Artie." He could practically _feel_ Melchett dying of pain and embarrassment. "'Your Majesty' just sounds a little much." Uneasily, the Queen nodded,**

**"As you wish . . . Artie." She paused, "But, seriously," she paused again, clearly uncomfortable, "Artie, have you given any thought to marriage yet?" He suddenly felt a little stupid, as though he should have already considered it. His face was burning, but he realized with a jolt that it wasn't just embarrassment -- Artie was tipsy.**

**"Well, no, actually. Why does everyone ask me that? I mean, I've been really busy since I became king and it's like I have no time for anything else, you know?" He looked over to the thin man, who nodded in sympathy. "And I don't wanna marry just _anyone_!" At this, the older king nodded vigorously, looking like he'd eaten one too many pommes de terre dauphinoises. (A/N: This is a French dish of sliced potatoes in a really rich white sauce and I think with cheese, as well. If I'm not mistaken, it's also called patates au gratin.) **

** "Do you already have someone in mind, Artie?" The King piped up, practically on the edge of his seat. Artie's face was getting redder and redder by the minute. He'd never had alcohol before. The administration at Worcestorshire had banned everything except for this awful, watered-down beer that tasted like what Artie imagined diluted urine to taste like. Well, he supposed he didn't really have to imagine; he'd suffered a few swirlies in his time at Worcestorshire.**

**"Guinevere! She captured my heart the minute I first laid eyes on her!" Fiddlesworth cringed from his position near the door. Oh, god, now the boy's turned into a drunken poet! It was not his place to intervene when royal guests were being entertained, but, oh, how we so desperately wanted to! His Majesty was making a real fool of himself! "But who cares? I don't like her anymore! She - she's so not invited to my twenty-first birthday party!"  
**

**And so proceeded the dinner until everyone was so roaringly drunk that the ensuing conversations made even the tough knights by the door blush to their toes. Artie cringed. That Queen had been entirely too vocal about her wedding night. **

**When he finally got back to his room, Artie practically collapsed onto the bed, though, this time, he remembered to take off his boots.**

Artie sat at his desk, his left hand clutching an empty vial of Hangover Cure. _This is the first and last time I'll ever be thankful for Melchett. _A cool feeling washed over his sensing, spiraling through his veins and arteries. _Come on, Shrek, hurry up! _Though he wouldn't have believed it when he first met Shrek, the ogre had become something of a father to him and it had hurt terribly to watch him go, but . . . it was for the best. _I mean, I'd never get anything done! Probably just go off on adventures with him all the time and then the kingdom would collapse and then where would we all be? _Artie got up and tossed his shirt into a corner before falling on the bed, silently wishing for another unexpected guest from his (thought it hardly felt as such) recent past.

* * *

Ayla couldn't help but wonder it had come to this. Shaking her head, she took a cleansing breath and began to walk past the docks with as much nonchalance as she could muster, hardly seeing the merchandise piled high on several carts. Some way down, she began noticing the acrid smoke of incense and a headier wave of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She followed her nose until -- 

"Ah, I see that you are drawn to the delights of the opium stick!"At Ayla's alarmed look, the roman-nosed witch waved a hand dismissively, "Don't look so thunderstruck, my boy! They're only scented! It's not like I sell drugs or anything." She leaned over the short counter and mumbled behind her hand conspiratorially, "But if you've got gold, then I can tell you I'm sold!" Nico, in her mind, was cringing and perhaps vomiting a little at the multitude of nasty connotations, but she managed to smooth out her face.

"Ma'am, what do you sell besides incense? I'm looking for a gift for someone in Bellamar."_Better to stick with a partial lie than be caught in a new one. _The witch blinked, but made something akin to a grin,

"Ah, I have candles, plates, colorful cloths for a nice lady friend," the witch cheekily nudged her with a wink, "and some soap."

"Some soap?" _That's a bit random, isn't it? _

"Why, yes! Just shipped in from France, you know! Lovely place, France." The witch sighed, as if entering some pleasant memory that had happened long ago, but the sun's rays were quickly reddening and Ayla was beginning to panic._ Shit! It's nearly sunset! It looks like all the ships have already left port. _She took a deep cleansing breath and tried to focus on something else, anything else by the empty docks. Nervously, Ayla looked down at a business card in a neat little pile on the counter, right next to the other fie sets. _Fairest of them All, Day Spa, Grasse, France. It's a long shot, but one bizarre foreign contact's better than none at all. Besides, maybe I could get a job there and --_

"That's my sister's spa, you know. Wonderful massages and saunas! Right in the heart of Grasse, so all the essential oils are made right there! In fact . . . " The woman droned on while Ayla calmly nodded every few moments. _Man, is she being paid to advertise like that? _Despite Ayla's unwillingness to appear rude, she soon found herself staring longingly at the harbor when her eyes fell on --_ is that the last ship?? _"If I'm not much mistaken, boy, that one's leaving for Dunkirk in the next few minutes." At Ayla's confused look, the hag chuckled, "Don't think I didn't notice you peeking at the harbor, there, young man!" A new vigor surged through her. If she could just catch that ship, then steal a horse and ride south, maybe she could find this Fairest of Them All and ask for employment. _Cor, that's still a long shot!_ But she figured she had nothing to lose, except maybe her dignity, her money, and her head, if she was caught stealing the aforementioned horse.

"How much for that bluish cloth there?" It was a large deep blue scarf of a light weight and a pleasant texture and Ayla had a sneaking suspicion that it might come in handy later on.

"2 gold pieces." Nico peeked back at the ship through the corner of her eye.

"Ma'am, I really haven't that much."

"Well, how much would you be willing to spend?" The witch began to look a little sour.

"For her," _Whoever the heck that is_"anything!"

"Excellent, well, just -- "

"But I'm afraid I have only 17 silver pieces!" (Author's Note: 20 silver pieces equals 1 gold piece) The warty hag's expression became instantly less amicable until her eyes caught sight of something. As soon as Nico sensed this, her hands moved instinctively to her ears. She'd forgotten to take off her --

"Earrings. I'll trade you the scarf for the earrings." _Though,_ thought the hag,_ heaven only knows why a young lad like yourself might wear such feminine accessories. Bit of a softsword, this one!_

Ayla fingered her earrings thoughtfully. They were easily worth more than half the cart altogether, but a bizarre roiling in her stomach grew as she saw more and more men board the last ship. "Ten and we've got a deal."

"This was made from the finest Chinese silk, blended with the softest llama wool and the best cotton this side of Telmar!" The witch grumbled. (A/N: Telmar is taken from _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe_.)

"Look, I really don't care what they're made of! I won't part with them for less than ten." Ayla anxiously looked to the setting sun and the men aboard the ship were now running about in a rather frenzied manner. The woman sure was taking her sweet time with this. _Damn it! She's probably trying to make me cave. _

_ "_Seven."

"Eight. That's my final offer." The woman's lips curled up into a disconcerting shape that was probably a self-satisfied smile,

"Sold." A split second later, she practically tore out the little opals and shoved them into the witch's hands and, swiftly grabbing the scarves and a business card, she made a mad dash for the ship. Shouting in her native tongue, she cried out,

"Excuse me! Sirs! Excuse me!" They didn't seem to hear her as they neared the end of their frantic preparations. _Nearly there. Nearly there! _Three docks later, she nearly fell into the bay. The striped-shirts were now staring curiously at this . . . boy? Well, he certainly looked like a bit of fruitcake, but who were they to judge? "Excuse me!"

The stoutest of the lot came forward, looking down his rather bulbous nose at Ayla. "Je comprends pas le telmarais." Shocked, she forgot to breathe for a moment. He had looked so Telmarine; how could he _not_ be? Then again, it _was _a port city. It wasn't unheard of for people of local blood to mix with foreigners. Her lips twisted as she thought of her own parents. Suddenly, she remembered the man before her and, rapidly wracking her brain, she stuttered in halting French,

"Je . . . Je parle pas beaucoup de -- du? de? français. Désolée! Uh, nous -- uh, vous parlez l'anglais?" Eying her, he noted her strange countenance and small hands. Didn't seem like the rest of the runaway street-rats. Trying to calm her breaths, Ayla began to study the ship, but found that she immediately regretted this decision, as what she saw only made her heart race faster. They were starting to untie some of the ropes already! Scraping up her courage and whatever was left of her dignity (though she was convinced that it took off the minute she started waltzing about in breeches and opals like some deranged child actor), Ayla replied,

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not sure if you understand English, but -- look, I just," The sun was setting and the men looked anxious. _Ok, let's try this again._ "Sir, I don't have much money, but I'll work hard. I just need to get to my uncle somehow." She began to ramble, her voice picking up speed and volume, snowballing like the state of her nerves, "He's sick, you see, and he's never been well, but it's different this time and the healers say that he hasn't got long and I just -- " The stout man seemed to warm up a bit, although his face betrayed some impatience.

"Stop. Stop! Just stop!" Relief flooded the girl. _He does speak English!_ "'Ow much can you be paying?" _Albeit really badly.  
_

"How much will you take, sir?" The ruddy-cheeked man eyed the boy carefully.

"A leetle businessman, I see. Hmm, shall we say 9 gold pieces and labor?"

"17 silver pieces and labor." The man's eyebrows shot into his hairline. Panicked by this, Ayla blurted out, "It's all I've got, but I'm a very efficient worker and I'm fairly quiet most of the time! You won't even notice me, sir!" _Did I just say that all in one breath? _The stout man looked him over once more.

"What ees your name, boy?" Ayla gulped, ransacking her brain for something -- anything!

"Nico. Short for Nicolas." _Well, at least it's not a complete lie. _She had gained the nickname at one particularly embarrassing Christmas party some years ago, after one of her father's business partners introduced the holiday to their village. It was right after she'd accidentally drenched herself in her neighbor Dara's wine sauce and, well, let's just say that if she'd added the tree into the mix, she'd have been quite festive indeed. She shook her head a little and tried, as subtly as possible, to take a deep breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man scratch his stubbly chin pensively before, seemingly out of nowhere, he broke out in a grin.

"We 'ave a deal, little Nicolas."

**That night . . .**

Ayla met the crew, awkwardly nodding at each one as they introduced themselves. They each had the same questions, especially regarding her looks, because, while Alanya was a known melting pot, people of different racial backgrounds generally preferred to "keep pure." Ayla mimicked a disaffected shrug, explaining that her parents were merchants of mixed heritages of the Far East, though her great grandfather came from France, but she wasn't sure.

Ayla couldn't help noticing that some of them were now eyeing her with not a little curiosity and perhaps some pity. She ventured a second look at them. _Definitely pity_. She began to squirm under their scrutiny, picking at invisible lint balls as she counting backwards.

Maybe the silence was only uncomfortable to her, but with each second the air became tighter and tighter. Ayla got up abruptly, her chair scraping and collapsing wildly on the floor. "Well, I'm off to bed! It was a pleasure meet -- meeting you all. Good night!" Her face burned as she hurriedly walked out of the room, but she could hardly help it. The air had been too close.

* * *

61 mornings came and went without little more than a week of heavy rain and since Arthur had ascended the throne of Far Far Away, the pirates seemed to have disbanded. As for Ayla, well, between scrubbing the deck, re-braiding rope, chopping cabbage, and peeling potatoes, she was counting the days until disembarkation. _Three more potatoes to go. Just three more --_ One of the crew members coughed behind her, roughly jarring her from her thoughts. _-- damn it! Ouch, that hurt! _Ayla quickly tried to hide her newly sliced index finger as she turned around to listen to what the fellow had to say, though she did have half a mind to "accidentally" give him more cabbage than potato tomorrow night. 

"We weel soon be arriving in Far Far Away, boy. If you weesh to disembark for a beet, you may do so, but you must return to zee docks by nightfall, yes?" Unsure as to whether or not this was a real question, she settled for just nodding. The young man seemed satisfied with this and promptly left to go on deck. _Finally! LAND!_ She was sick of being cooped up in the balmy stickiness of the galley, though probably less so than of burning her hands by weaving those tough fibers into a line each morning. A twinge of guilt crumpled her insides a little. _Well, I'm lucky to be here. And who knows? Maybe a walk around town this afternoon'll do me some good._

* * *

**Author's Notes: I think by this point, you know that Ayla/Nico is often seen, in a derogatory manner, as a homosexual boy. Homosexuality is not, in my view, a joke or an abnormality in any way. Any jibes aimed at minority groups, countries, and flea markets are purely for humor and do not reflect my views at all. It's said to express the thoughts of the minds of the other characters and the general opinions of the locations. Really, I hope I didn't offend anyone and if I did, then I really do apologize.**

**In this chapter, I used the imaginary kingdom of Very Very Near. At the time, I didn't realize why the name came to mind, but after a message from AllzStar, I realized that it was because I had read her story! I apologized to her in an email, but I'd like to apologize to you all, as well. Anyhow, nothing else has changed. **

**Also, about the money, here's the exact breakdown: **

**20 silver pieces -- 1 gold piece**

**1 gold piece -- roughly $10 / €7 / ₤5**

**Also, I'm really sorry this story was edited so many times today and, just to let you know, some important things have changed.**

**I was going to have Nico/Ayla say her real name at the end, but it just seemed impractical to have her refer to herself as one thing and then suddenly switch.**

**Alanya is a real port city in Turkey, which is where I imagine Ayla's/Nico's story to have started. This location serves three functions:**

**1. It makes it easier to believe that her heritage is mixed, since it's a port city in Eurasia.**

**2. Starting out in a port city makes the whole "fleeing" bit work a lot faster and seem more credible.**

**3. It's nothing against Caucasians, but the racial monotony was part of what made me want to write this story. I just thought I'd do something a little bit more inclusive and the location allowed the main character's background to be non-white in a credible manner.**

**Well, I hope that clears up some stuff. Sorry it's all over the place!**


	2. Cloaked Strangers and Puberty

Artie awoke up to blissful morning sunshine. Oh, this was nice! The birds were singing, the trees were whispering, his pillow was growling! -- wait, his _pillow_ was growling?? _That can't be natural. _Staying quite still, Artie reached up over his head and touched -- fur?

"Puss!" he croaked, "What are you doing here?"

"Nice hair, kid." Artie snorted. "Alright, well, today is August the 12th and you, Artie, will be pleased to know that Shrek is due to arrive this afternoon." Puss's grin widened, "He said he would be at the Palace by sunset, at the latest." Artie whooped with a fist in the air, though it came out as more of a half-broken 'Woohoo!' "Yeesh! I think your morning breath will definitely please him."

Artie rolled his eyes as he snorted. "They call it morning breath for a reason, Puss. Besides, you were the one that woke me up!"

"Then I apologize, you Majesty." Puss whipped his hat off with a flourish and bowed deeply. Artie chuckled,

"I can meet you in the parlor. It connects to this room through that panel." The gingercat eyed him strangely. "Puss, I need to get dressed and, as you so subtly pointed out, brush my teeth.

"I am afraid I cannot join you, for I meet with my querida Catarina." At Arties crestfallen look, he added hurriedly, "But I will also be returning to the palace by sunset!"

"Oh, come on, we could both go down to the docks to meet Shrek. If we leave now, we'll probably be right on time! I could even bring a horse for him!" At Puss's skeptical expression, Artie amended a little sullenly, "Yeah, he'd probably crush it by accident, but, so what? We could just walk there!"He knew he was being childish, but he was too excited too care.

"Artie, I really don't think it's such a good idea that you leave the palace grounds so soon. You have too many responsibilities here." The blond boy snorted at this,

"Oh, yeah. Drinking with monarchs, hitting boats with bottles, and knighting people. That's really hard."

"But Artie," the gingercat persisted, "What will people think if they found out? They might think that you are sneaking out, shirking your duties!" Artie looked up at the ceiling with a frustrated groan.

"Puss, lots of people are outside everyday. It's not like everyone think everyone else is playing hooky!"

"You are a king, Arthur!" Puss reasoned loudly, "And as such, unless you have some civic duty to perform, people might not approve of your being outside!" His tone softened as he walked over the boy with drooped shoulders and wayward hair, "Artie, I know it isn't fun, but you've only just become king. There's bound to be people who will take any reason to oppose you, because you're only 13 --"

" -- 15 and a half, actually."

"Right, 15 and a half. Look," the gingercat lay a comforting paw on the boys calf, "when Shrek gets here, we are going to party. Mojitos, sangria, the works!" Artie seemed to brighten at this new prospect. "So will you stay inside?" _Ok, brightness dampened a little. _

_ "_Yeah." The cat leapt up to grab his mini-rapier.

"Good, now I must go to my Carmencita!"

"I thought her name was Catarina!" Artie called after him laughingly as the cat's footsteps died away. Looking around quickly, his face was immediately sobered._ Ok, Puss. I said I'd stay inside_, Artie smirked, _but I didn't say for how long!_ Sticking his arms through his shirt, he hopped up and down into his leggings until he finally managed to clothe himself. Jumping into his boots with more haste than was probably necessary, he hopped to the desk to scribble a quick explanation as to where he was going to be this afternoon. _The docks might be far, but what's wrong with a little urban exploring?_ It's not like anyone would recognize him, not if he did this right.

"Ok," he muttered under his breath, "I need . . . " His emerald gaze fell on a long, shabby cloak that, once upon a time, must have some black or perhaps a dark blue. He grinned mischievously, "Perfect."Tossing it into a leather bag, he left the room.

So far, there was no one in sight. He almost laughed out loud at his good fortune! Artie looked right. _No one. _Left. _Still no one. Alright, the coast is clear! _Without another thought, he slid down the banister of the main stairwell and landed in a slightly bruised but giddy heap at the bottom.

"Your _Majesty_?" _Big Nose!_ "Er, how fine it is to see you. May I inquire as to what has just taken place, your Majesty?" _Only Big Nose can condescend and brown-nose simultaneously. _

"I was just . . . " _Think, Artie, think! _Fiddlesworth was now regarding him even more strangely than he had when he first found the toppled king.

_"_Yes, your Majesty?" Artie saw the black satchel out of the corner of his eye. _Got it!_

"I was just heading outside." _There. Not a total lie. _"I mean, it's such a nice day, why waste it, eh Be -- Fiddlesworth?"The explanation seemed to please the man so much that --

"Would you be requiring an escort, your Majesty? After all, the grounds are vast." Artie shrugged as disaffectedly as he could manage,

"S'alright, Fiddlesworth. I'm pretty sure I know my way around by now, but I'll let you know if I need help another time." Fiddlesworth nodded respectfully before taking his leave,

"As you wish, your Majesty." _Phew! Let's get out of here before we run into any more people! _Making a mad dash for the side door, he quickly shut it behind himself and alternated between skulking and sprinting until he reached the palace gates. Beyond them, he could see the sea sparkling in the late summer sun. Artie pulled up his hood -- _Here goes nothing! _-- and jumped into the greener area next to the stone path leading into the city. Now he'd be much harder to spot from the palace.

* * *

After peeling the last three dratted tubers, Ayla cleaned her injured finger as best she could and bound it in a small scrap of fabric she had torn from her sleeve. The injury wasn't, by any means, ghastly or grave, but it was just bad enough to warrant some stitches if she didn't force the skin to heal together early on. Fresh air wafted in from above and, unable to help herself, she practically glided up the creaky wooden steps and onto the main deck. 

"You zere! Leetle boy!" Ayla turned to look at the stocky captain. She must have been trying really hard to look nonchalant, because not only did the man notice, but he was probably thinking of recommending her some laxatives. "I trust zat Jean-Baptiste told you when to come back, no?" She breathed a sigh of relief -- _So that's what his name was! --_ and nearly smacked herself in the forehead for doing it so obviously, but the captain didn't seem to care. In fact -- she quickly peeked at his face -- he wasn't even looking at her! Suddenly remembering that he'd asked her a question, she immediately blurted out,

"Yes, sir, he did." The man's sunburnt lips drew into a what he had probably intended to look like friendly smile, but it actually came out as more of a cross between a strangled simper and a grimace. Ayla continued nodding politely every few moments to keep up the pretense of careful listening or, at least, a reflective mood. _Come on, come on! Finish talking already!_

"You may disembark." After all, it wouldn't do to have him leave her in Far Far Away, now would it? "Just remember to come back on time, petit Nico!"

And with that, the captain briskly walked to the other side of the ship to look out at the approaching coastline. The sight was like a jug of water on a hot summer's day, something that Ayla was beginning to need now that she was back under the hot mid-August sun. She looked out at the sea from the bow of the ship and was inventing all sorts of fanciful creatures and stories (one involved a particularly adventurous blow-toise named Otis), when she felt the ship lurch and shortly thereafter, cease moving. _I guess we've docked already._

Ayla looked around. _The deck was awfully quiet. _She went up to the captain and tentatively tapped his shoulder. He whirled around as if expecting some gruesome fight, but relaxed somewhat when he saw it was just her. "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but where is everyone?"

"Gone," he answered tightly, walking smoothly around her to the base of the crow's nest, "Zey are already in the city."

"Oh." The same strange feeling she'd had back at the warty witch's incense stand returned with a sharp twisting sensation. "That was fast." _Crap, I sound like a eunuch! "_So, I suppose I shall just get off the ship, as well, then." By now, Ayla could no longer control the rising pitch of her voice. "Are you coming, sir?" The captain's eyes gleamed oddly, and Ayla was willing to bet her whole satchel that it was not due to the glittering sea below. But the look left as fast as it had come. Mentally, she shook her head. Maybe I need glasses.

"No. You weell be disembarking with me. Right now." Ayla's heart practically was practically slamming into her throat. _Ok. Let's think about this rationally. I can try to make a run for it, but it looks like there's no one around for miles. And wouldn't know where I was going anyway. _A plan suddenly popped into her head as she schooled her features into a calmer state. It was a total toss up, but it was at least worth trying. _Just play dumb, Ayla. _Her curved into a slightly wobbly grin._ And maybe make him feel uncomfortable along the way . . ._

They were now ascending the stony stairs now and with each step, her anxiety mounted, but she would have to wait until the perfect moment to execute her little game. For a while, it was just the occasional house or farm. The silence had come to that malleable stage where it could either continue or be politely broken by some inquisitive young rascal such as herself. She could contain it no longer and, forcing a look of innocence about her face, she inquired timidly,

"Sir?" He didn't acknowledge her. "Sir?" She repeated, a little more loudly.

"Yes, boy?" He didn't seem too pleased.

"Sir, I was wondering if I could ask you something." He said nothing, so she took it as a tacit yes. "It's about girls, sir." The captains face screwed up a little.

"Yes, what about zem?"

"Well, why don't they like me?"

"Er." The captain's already ruddy cheeks seemed to be rouging further. She also noted that the houses were fairly close together at this point. Excellent.

"And, sir, I keep having these dreams about old salami and Mrs. Gelik from the lamacun shop and -- I just can't help myself! I thought I was past bedwetting, but -- "

"Zat's quite enough, boy!" The captain practically hollered. A few neighbors stuck their necks out of their windows to see what the ruckus was about. Ayla saw fit to ask him similarly awkward and embarrassing questions every ten to fifteen houses, but as the sun began its mid-afternoon sizzling, Ayla began to wilt in its heat. By the time they reached the city gates, she was as leaden and sticky as a, well, leaden and sticky thing.

On all sides, there were people milling about. Of course, having worked all her life in Alanya center, she was used to the hustle and bustle of urban life, but there was something about this place that made her uneasy. Or maybe it was the company? Ayla shudderd as she felt the inescapable sweaty hands of the captain gripping her shoulders with more force than she thought necessary. Thoughts zooming about like the crowd around her, she wondered for what was probably the billionth time since she'd left port if maybe she was in over her head. Memories, unbidden, began to float forth.


	3. Next Stop: Memory Lane

** Ayla awoke to the gentle gurgling of the stream outside her window and the sun's late-morning kisses on her face. Today was Alanya Independence Day, the one day a year that she, along with everyone else who worked in shops, got off from the bakery and nothing was going to ruin her day. _Besides, it's beautiful outside!_ Stretching languidly and yawning in a most unladylike manner, she practically rolled off the bed. Yes, today would be a good day. **

** Throwing on a simple olive green dress that her father had brought back for her from one of his business trips to the Western kingdoms, she surveyed herself in the mirror. ****The April sunlight**** had darkened the light smattering of freckles and had rendered her skin a light golden color. She was no extraordinary beauty, (not in the conventional sense, anyway,) but ****between the black liquid of her almond-shaped eyes, the gentle curve of her nose, and the slight hint of noble cheekbones, ****her face bore an understated elegance that often caused people to mistake her for a woman beyond her sixteen years.  
**

** She eyed the brush on the one table in the room. It was backed in silver, etched in complicated filigree design that made her wish she had taken up jewelery-making as a career instead of baking, but she had to admit, being able to take the many leftover breads and pastries was often worth it, considering the fact that she and her father were unable to afford much food, but they got by well enough these days. She stared at the brush for moment before shrugging and leaving the room. _Why bother when it never gets tangled anyway? _Ah, the benefits of a mixed heritage.**

**"Father!" she called, "Father?" She waltzed into the kitchen, feeling lighter than air as she scoured the pantry for some day-old desserts. _Who says you can't eat kazandibi for breakfast? _She looked out at the sun. _Ok, brunch, then. _When she had finished eating, she tied on a shabby apron and began to clean the kitchen with a rag whose original color had long ago ceased to be, well, a color. She was wiping down the shutters over the sink when she saw a note lodged between two of the slats. Extracting it carefully, she unfolded it. **

**"Dear Ayla, **

**I figured you'd find this. Interesting location, hm? Ayla, I'm sorry I couldn't be here this morning, but I had to meet with a business partner to discuss a very important transaction. You understand, don't you? I don't know when I'll be back, although I should be home in time for lunch. Don't wait up, ok?**

**All My Love,**

**Dad" _So do I wait up or do I make more lunch? _Absently, Ayla noted that the whole thing was a bit odd. _He doesn't usually leave notes._ **

** Noon came and went, and soon it was nearly three o'clock. _That's funny. _Ayla shot a worried glance at the door. Whenever her father was home in Alanya, he would always come back to the house for lunch and the only time he had been late was -- she couldn't remember. _He's never been this late before._ Maybe Dara would know. **

** Dara was a somewhat high-strung but kind middle-aged widow who was always insisting that young girls was too skinny these days and that it was no good for bearing children. Taking the hint, Ayla had told her countless times that she didn't have the luxury of childbearing since she was far too busy looking after her father to marry. No one would accept second place for a girl with very little time and even less money. Of course, they both knew it was an excuse, but Dara was all too familiar with the awful way Alanyan men treated their wives. It was just the mother in her talking.**

** Wiping her hands on the front of her apron, she started for the small, stony house next door. Raising her fist to knock, she yelped in surprise when the door came flying open. It was Dara's sixteen year old son and the unofficial beau of the village, Hakan. "Oh, hi. Um, is your mother home?"It was utterly stupid. While the boy was obviously attractive, he seemed completely oblivious to the effect he had on women. _But that's probably a good thing, else we'd have to deflate his head and, knowing Dara, it would be quite painful._  
**

** "Yeah, she's right in the kitchen." Ayla's heart jumped a little when she perceived some social discomfort on his part. "I can go get her, if you like." **

** "No, it's ok. You look like you're in a rush. I'll just go in myself." Hakan regarded her with an unreadable expression; she felt a strange tight ball swell into something soft and almost uncontainable. As if clearing cobwebs, she shook her head a little. "See you later, Hakan."**

** "Yeah. Later." He mumbled as he glided right past her. _What the heck was that all about? _**

**_ "_Dara? You in there?" Ayla called out in the foyer. **

** "Ayla, dear! What brings you here?"The older woman's voice quivered strangely from deeper within the house. Ayla cautiously made her way to the kitchen, replying steadily,**

** "I was wondering if you knew where my father was. He didn't come home for lunch today." Dara inhaled slowly, the corners of her mouth pulling downward in a strained and thoughtful way. "Dara?"**

** "You might want to sit down, dear." Dread balled up in her stomach, spreading its icy panic to her blanching face and her sweaty palms. Obediently, she set herself down in a chair. Dara held out an envelope. Apprehensively, Ayla gingerly took it from her, expecting the worst. _But why would someone send a letter to my neighbor to tell me that he's dead? And why didn't she come right over? _The letter looked incredibly official in the soft, linen feel of it under the red wax seal. Perhaps she was to be left in the care of one Mrs. Dara Ilahi? _I guess there's only one way to find out._**

**"Miss Ayla Zhang-Nedim of The Glade, Alanya, we here at Gandarbha Palace regret to inform you that you have been hereby disowned by one Luca Nedim of The Glade, Alanya. In his terms, he requested you leave within the day . . . " Dumbstruck. She was absolutely dumbstruck. Almost without feeling it, she slid the letter across the table to Dara. "Does it state the name of my new guardian?" She felt like she'd swallowed a pomegranate, like her throat was swelling the point of asphyxiation. Dara calmly looked over the document and remained silent. "Does it say?"**

**The letter didn't say. Ayla lived with Mrs. Ilahi (her son was constantly out in Alanya proper, learning how to be a blacksmith) and, after a month, the stress of the long hours at work on top of her curious and sudden disowning were too much for her, and though she told no one, Dara painfully noted this and, as desperately as she wanted to tell the girl the reason for all this, she simply couldn't. No one knew why it had happened to the dutiful daughter Ayla, but it had, and Dara was determined to find out why. Ayla quit her job at the bakery to serve the Ilahi family as their maid; Of course, Dara said no initially, but once she found out the girl had quit her job in the city, she offered to pay her. Ayla insisted that it wasn't necessary, but after the woman's constant nagging, she gave in, though she was secretly relieved. Now she might be able to save for a gift for Mrs. Ilahi.**

**Then one day, a strange man came to the door, asking for Ayla. His name was Yavuz (though Dara generally called him more colorful things behind his back) and he was the cruelest landlord in The Glade. "She's not home, my lord. To be quite frank, I have no idea where she is anymore."**

**"Oh?" The man's greasy mouth curled into something surly.**

**"Yes, my lord. She's not been here in a while, but I'll be sure to send for you if she turns up." A foul look crossed his face before it settled into something eerily pleased,**

** "How is your son, Mrs. Ilahi? Still apprenticed to the blacksmith?" Dara got a strange feeling as she confirmed this. The man soon nodded and bid her goodday as he left the threshold of the Ilahi household. Crouched behind the door was Ayla. She and Dara had laughingly fought over who would answer the door when Dara leapt forward and swung it open as Ayla jumped into the corner to avoid a concussion.**

** She was shaking, her faded freckles suddenly stark against her pale face. "Why was he here?"**

** Dara quickly shut the door and left for the kitchen. "Come, I'll make you some mint tea. All this early summer heat does no good for the mind." Sensing this as the beginning of some explanation, Ayla obediently sat down at the heavy oak table. The tea was soon ready and both women were quietly sipping away. Dara nearly dropped her cup; a sudden and fearful expression took hold of her face. "Yavuz. Your father."**

** "WHAT??"_ Is she implying that Yavuz is . . . my father??_ **

** In an even voice, Dara calmly explained, "Ayla, I know that you're very hurt and confused by all this -- ah, ah! Don't argue." Ayla shut her mouth, a frustrated and frightened look in her dark eyes. "But I do not believe your father -- that you were let go without a good reason." Ayla shifted uncomfortably, her gaze boring into the teacup as though it held all the answers. _Well at least she's not trying to tell me that my father is a criminally insane loan shark slash landlord._ "Ayla," Dara gently touched the younger girl's hand, "I do not wish to tarnish your father's reputation in any way, but I suspect that, at some point, your father made some kind of deal with Yavuz. Dara swore a swear that seemed to project so many colors, Ayla thought her eyebrows might burn off simply because of her proximity to the one who'd said it. "Ayla, I think," she paused carefully, "I think your father arranged a marriage between you and Lord Yavuz." She intoned emphatically, "You know what happens to those who go back on their deals with that awful man." It was then that Ayla remembered the note her father had left her earlier. It had seemed a little odd. Her gut clenched and suddenly she didn't know what she was feeling, or if she was feeling anything at all. Perhaps she was suffering an emotional short-circuiting? _I think I'm gonna hurl. _But in almost no time at all, Mrs. Ilahi supplied Ayla with two sets of her late husband's old clothing ("I reckon this'll be the only time you'll be glad of your small breasts!"Despite the gravity of the situation, Ayla couldn't help but laugh a little -- even if her face was as red as a tomato. She knew this was Dara's way of showing she cared; it was better than having her cry. "And you're damnsome lucky my husband was something of a larger man! Here, these shirts should hide any womanly evidence."), a leather satchel full of dried meats and fruits, two large loaves of bread, and a canteen of water. "How much money have you, Ayla?"**

** "18 silver pieces." **

** "High heavens! That won't get you passage at all! Where're your wages, girl?" Dara was shocked. Ayla wasn't the type for frivolity. Rather embarrassedly, Ayla produced a beautiful jade-bead necklace. **

** "I wanted to buy you something nice." The older woman sniffled a little and rushed to encircle Ayla in a bone-crushing hug. **

** Too soon, the sun had set and it was now well past 10. Hakan was supposed be home already; Dara had hoped he could escort Ayla to her next destination, but it seemed that Ayla would have to travel on her own. Two teary goodbyes later, cleverly disguised as a poor boy called Nico, (which would be easier to respond to since it was a nickname already,) Ayla left the Ilahi household. A bizarre tugging sensation troubled her insides. Where was Hakan? Shaking her head, she took one last look before walking on. **

**As per Dara's instructions, she was now headed for the home of a childhood friend. Of course, Mrs. Ilahi hadn't said 'go to an old friend's", it seemed the most practical decision. She could claim to be her own cousin, Bhelil. The conversation played in her mind over and over again. _"Once you get wherever you want to go, make sure to lie low for a bit, then go as quickly as you can to the harbor and try to barter labor for passage. It should work. Go anywhere, although it'd be best if you didn't tell anyone here where you're headed -- ah! Don't talk! That includes me. You know that there are magickal truth serums and I'd wager a gold nugget that that Yavuz wouldn't mind coming for a visit and slipping some in my tea one day." Ayla looked at her, bewildered,_**

**_ "But don't they know you helped me? I mean, what does that mean for you? And Hakan? He's not even home yet, but even he'll notice the day I went missing." Through a watery smile, Dara replied, _**

**_ "I can get by on half-truths, well enough, dearie."_While she was still staying with Dara, about a month in, Ayla had gone back once to see her house, but what she found there caused her to vomit on site. It was her father, face down, in a pool of blood. It was dark and hard to see, but she was positive it was him. Steeling herself, she extracted the dagger lodged in his back and knelt down to turn him over when the door swung open to reveal a bunch of enraged villagers. **

**"What have you done, girl!" "We will have you murdered for this!" "That you defile your family so!" She did only what she could think to do. She ran for it; lucky for her, it had been a moonless night. Dara never found out, and she waved off any snippets of gossip surrounding the event.  
**

* * *

Arthur walked about, drinking in everything with a silent glee that made him want to burst into laughter. He was free! For the first time since his self-coronation, he was just regular old Artie, out in the city with your average Jane and John Doe. _Ye Olde GameStop, eh? Oh, why not?_ Chuckling under his hood, he walked across the way and into the store. _Woah, Warlock Craft 6! _He eyed the expertly carved wooden pieces, the richly painted game board, the finely decorated cards. _12 gold pieces. Not too bad._ He knew he could buy it easily without wearing a hole in his change purse, but what respectable shop clerk would take that much money from some questionably dressed stranger? It was no use. 

Artie suddenly because aware of a little golden-haired boy only one shelf away from him. The child was probably no older than 10 and upon a more thorough perusal, Artie noted that the boy had these eyes that, despite their steely gray color, seemed to glow with a rare warmth. Practically scaring Artie out of his wits, the little boy suddenly called to his father, whom, judging by the volume of the kid's voice, was probably somewhere across the room. "Dad! Dad, what about this one?" _Jeez, for someone so little, he's got a huge mouth!_

"Francis." Artie froze at the word, his hands suddenly gripping whatever game box he happened to be holding. An approaching man raised his glasses and lowered his voice a few decibels, "We can't really afford to spend 6p on a game. Now, if it were 2p, maybe, but we have to save up, just for now." The bespectacled man smiled ruefully, "I'm sorry, son."

In his head, Artie had this whole plan where he'd throw down his hood and whip out his change purse, extending it in kingly generosity towards the little boy, who would promptly dance with happiness at his good fortune -- but instead, Artie left the store; he felt strangely winded. Walking aimlessly, Artie began to lose himself to his memories.

**Age 6, Camelot**

**"Arthur, my boy!" Uther laughed from the breakfast table, putting down his morning gazette. "How'd ya sleep?" This Artie, skinnier and shorter now, ran over to the man, giggling wildly as he clambered up onto the chair next over.**

** "I slept ok, daddy. You?"**

** "Well, it was a little hard with this extra lump of arms and legs in the bed, but I slept well enough." Artie looked around the room rather sheepishly. "I asked your mother about it earlier this morning, actually."**

** "Oh. What did mommy say?" Artie was biting his lip, trying not to giggle at his father's _obvious_ myopia.  
**

** "Well, she suspects that a little monster has been crawling into our bed every night." Artie gasped. Had there been a monster in there with him? "At first, she said it was the boogie monster, but we both agreed that he was too big. Then she said it might be a little one called Arthur."**

** "There was a monster in there with me?" Artie breathed in awe. Uther yelled out dramatically, **

** "Aha! It was you, then!" Artie huffed, a little put out at being discovered,  
**

** "And a monster! It wasn't only me!" Uther chuckled quietly,**

** "Well, you know what we do to night-slinkers, don't you?" Artie laughed loudly breaking out into a run. The two ran around the table until Uther scooped him up. "TICKLE ATTACK!!" **

**Eventually, the two fell into a happy heap and that was how Igraine found them. "Honey, don't crush the poor boy." She deadpanned, "Rough-housing is dangerous." But she couldn't fight her grin for long and a moment later, she was throwing her golden head back in unguarded mirth. Artie looked over at his father when he suddenly stopped laughing. Uther sighed as he got up and walked over to his lovely wife and gently cupped her face in his warm hands. The two locked eyes in the most stereotypical of fashions, faces drawing closer and closer until Artie suddenly called out,**

** "EW! Kissy faces!" Igraine snorted and rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips twisting wryly. Gingerly, she took Uther's hands away from her face and held them in her own, thumbs tracing over his knuckles. The two hardly noticed when Artie huffed and left the room, grumbling grumpily about icky parents. **

**Age 12, Worcestorshire Academy**

**"Chin up, Arthur," His father's warm, gray eyes practically begging him to understand, "Worcestorshire is one of the best! Pendragons have been going here since the _first_ outbreak of the Black Plague!" Arie wrinkled his nose at the mention of it. "Er, ok, not the best time-marker -- " Artie snorted, starting to cheer up a little " -- but you'll be home for the Yuletide holidays and again in the summer. And we'll visit you as often as we can, alright?" **

**Igraine breathed deeply, "Arthur," she bent down and placed her hands lightly on his shoulders, "We're not abandoning you." Artie practically flinched at the word. Igraine frowned. A moment later, she crushed him in a hug so tight he felt as though his ribcage would never be the same again. Somehow, he hardly cared. **

**It felt years later when she let him go and already Artie wanted her to hug him again. Who cared that he was already 12 years old? As his mother once told him, "You can't outgrow love." (_I always thought she should work for that greeting card company.) _Vaguely, Artie wondered at how one could feel empty and overjoyed simultaneously. **

** His parents soon faded into the distance with all of the others.  
**

**_I'll see them soon enough._****  
**

**  
**

**Age 13, Camelot **

**The skin of Artie's hands stretched tightly over his whitening knuckles. The sun was shining, the trees were swaying gently in the soft summer breeze -- It was unbearable. Almost against his will, he looked down at the headstone, staring until he could feel his eyes water but he couldn't look away. _Here lies Igraine the Fair: daughter, wife, mother. _Was that all they had to say about her?**

**As if from some distance, he began to hear the scratchy voice of the presiding minister as he ended the eulogy. Artie's gaze immediately snapped up across the way to his father's expressionless face, to the face of every person present. Why was no one else upset about this? **

**Age 14, Worcestorshire Academy  
**

**"Your dad coming, Artie?" Lancelot asked with saccharine innocence. At Artie's simply confused look, he elaborated. "It's Father-Son Jousting Day tomorrow, didn't you know?" **

** Lancelot, upon seeing the desired reaction stamped on Artie's face, he smirked, "You might wanna tell him." He paused. "In case he, you know, forgets." **

**  
**

* * *

**__****_Author's Note: Kazandibi is a light milk and egg pudding that's sort of like a lighter version of flan_**

**__****_Lamacun is a Turkish pizza with a very thin crust, tomatoes, and a type of meat, usually lamb or beef_**

**__****_Yavuz is a name meaning "grim"_**

**__****_Dara "compassion"_**

**__****_Ayla "moonlight"_**

**__****_Luca "light"_**

**__****_I know it's a little corny to give characters such significant names, but using another language definitely helps tone it down. Let me know if you feel otherwise or if you sense that the dialogue feels forced or fake in any way. I've done my best not to state the subtext, but _****_if there are any places where it seems as though I have, please point them out to me. Thanks!_**


	4. This Is Why We Drink Water

Ayla was roughly ripped from her reverie when she felt the captain's grip tighten brutally around her elbow. "You'd do well not to move too much," he sneered, "_boy_."Ayla froze, suddenly hyper-aware of her surroundings and instinctively brought her hands to hilt of the dagger that was safely bound to her wrist under a poofy white sleeve.She couldn't tell if he'd said the word with sarcasm or a general irritation, but she remained wary nonetheless. "Now come along quietly!" He swiftly forced her to walk in all sorts of directions until they came to a seedy little alley that made her think of devious men with gold teeth and bawdy women in balding boas.

In her peripheral vision, she saw the captain glancing about in a most bizarre and suspicious manner. Something just didn't fit, but just as her panic began to take hold, she was struck with an idea! "Sir!" She paused dramatically. "Sir! Please!"

Gruffly, he barked out without stopping, "What ees eet now, boy? Growing chest hair and writing poetry? I suppose you are wanting to 'ear all about zat, as well?"

"Actually, sir, I really need to use the privvies. Please, sir, I'm positively bursting!" At this point, people began to take notice of the full-bladdered 'boy.' _Good._

"Dear, god!" The captain shouted, "You insufferable teenager, I shall de-bladder you myself eef you do not shut up! Do I make myself clear?" Apparently, he'd made himself clear to the whole street; everyone was staring. _Ok, we have everyone's . Good. -- Now what do I do??_

Thinking quickly, Ayla broke away from him swiftly and held her lower abdomen, pretending to hop every few steps, making sure to ask several people in a rather loud voice if they knew where the privvies were. When he finally out of her line of sight, Ayla closed her eyes and sagged against an alley wall as she passed a hand over her face. Where was she to go from here? The only to get anywhere without getting lost was the take the main road, but her coloring would instantly give her away; the captain would be able to pick her out even at a distance. She would need a diversionary tactic, but all she had was a knapsack, some scarves, an old business card, and a knife -- and there was no way she was going to try stabbing the captain. The man was clearly lethal and would probably find some way to turn the tables and kill her instead, especially considering her malnourished state.

"What's with you, kid?" Her head shot up as she looked around for the source of the voice. It was a grimy-looking man. He burped a little before taking a quick swig from his flask. Clumsily, he reached into his pocket and produced a pipe and a bag of tobacco. "Not very talkative, are ye?" Ayla shrugged in a way that she hoped looked nonchalant. Bringing her gaze back up from the ground, she saw his flint and tinder and was suddenly struck with another idea.

"Hey, how much for the flask and the lighting materials?" The man raised a bushy eyebrow.

"More'n you look like you can spend." Ayla continued, forcing her tone to remain even.

"I'll trade you two Telmarine scarves for it." His eyebrows shot up even higher as he called out,

"What do I look like, some dandy?" The girl persisted, desperation leaking into her voice,

"Surely, you have a wife!" Slowly, the man studied the outstretched items as he mumbled to himself,

"The missus _does _like blue." Straightening up, he nodded curtly, "We have a deal, little man." Ayla let out a great whoosh of breath as she practically threw the scarves at him and took what was now her's. Thanking him, she promptly dodged into an alley and looked out, spying the bright stripes through the moving crowd. Swearing softly, she steeled herself. She would have to go through with this. Before she could change her mind, she tore off her sleeves and doused about a third of the fabric in alcohol. A moment later, she was was bounding back to the street until she reached a large archway. Hiding swiftly in the shadows behind it, she twisted the cloth into a coil, placed it in plain view of the street and lit it.

Pleased with her handiwork, she moved to get up, but promptly slammed her head into the archway's column. A tangy, coppery taste slid onto her tongue -- she'd bitten through part of her cheek. It was too late to ponder the crappiness of the injury -- she'd already been away for too long! Running back, she schooled her features into a look of relief. "I'm so sorry I ran off, but I would've gone on the spot!"

The captain grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and, as a last-ditch attempt to further support, her rather preposterous story, she wiped the area under her nose with her exposed wrist -- the one with the dagger. Instantly, his eyes glittered with a strange and dangerous light. With livid cool, he breathed, "Where did you get this?" She froze, unable to speak. Time was wearing thin, but still, no words would come. As she looked up into his flashing eyes, slowly opening her mouth to speak, but at the last minute, someone screamed, "FIRE!" The ensuing chaos was more than Ayla could have hoped for.

Making sure to 'panic,' Ayla repeatedly yelled the word "FIRE!" as she let herself get pushed around by the frightened crowd. She was pushed farther and farther away until, to her delight, he was completely out of sight. Relief washed over her sticky, overheated body, but it soon gave way to the heated dizziness of dehydration.

She swayed a little as she walked in little zigzags that were hardly noticeable in the lower end of the still-busy street until she slammed directly into someone. She propped herself up on her elbows and squinted against the sky, trying to see the now standing figure's hooded face. "Sorry about that. Here." The mysterious boy held out his hand. She woozily grabbed it and, when she was back to standing again, leaned wearily against a wall. "Hey, you ok?"

His hood had fallen back a bit and green eyes sparkled back at her in concern. He seemed to have noticed somehow, maybe from her face, that his hood was falling back and abruptly he moved to correct it. Airily, she replied, "I should be asking you the same question. How can you wear a cloak in this heat without dying?"

Ignoring her query, he chuckled, "So, you're going to be ok? Would you like me to walk you to . . . wherever it is that you're walking?"

Not wishing to tell a complete stranger, no matter how kind he seemed, the embarrassing reality of her homelessness, she waved him off and stood up independently of the wall. "No, thanks. I'll be right as rain in a moment." _Right as rain?? Who says that anymore??_ "Besides, I've some time to kill."

Ayla, with forced steadiness, walked across the street and into another alley, trying desperately to come up with some clever plan to save herself in this big city. Suddenly, a familiarly striped shirt rushed into view and before she knew it, his calloused hands had seized her arms and started pulling her somewhere. She tried to break free, but to no avail. She was too weak from poor nutrition and overexertion. Angrily, she realized that the clever little bastard had probably planned this. His oily voice rolled back into her consciousness. "Where did you get that dagger?"

Ayla's attention immediately snapped to his face. "You're not a Frenchmen." The man shot her a surly grin,

"And you're not a boy," his oily mouth twisted with an unsavory glee, "Miss Nedim." She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe! She forced herself to focus on his greasy visage, unwilling to look as frightened as she felt. "It seems that you owe my brother something."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Against her will, her knees began to tremble. "I owe him nothing." The captain continued as though he hadn't heard her,

"Some years ago, your father borrowed a great deal of money from my dear brother. Six months ago, the designated collection date, but he was late, so he incurred interest for each day he was late." He paused dramatically; Ayla would've laughed at his melodramatics had the situation been less frightening."By the time we came 'round to collect our dues, your _poor_ father said he didn't have enough," she was now visibly shaking with rage and fear; the captain, delighted to see this, chalked it up to panic, "but do you know what he _did_ offer my brother?"

"You're a liar!" Ayla snarled, unable to contain herself, not wanting to hear more. Before she could dislodge her wrists from his rough, porky hands, like lightning, one of his fist cracked across her face. Her stumbled and fell back against the stone wall. Her head was so heavy. It was just too hot. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, but she could feel what little water her body still contained sliding down the sides of her face. Taking advantage of her silence, he continued,

"Now, then, shall I keep going?" It was clear that she was not to interrupt again, unless she wanted her face completely redecorated. "So your dear father made a deal. He would sell you to Yavuz and -- "

"I would never marry that greasy oaf of a man!" This time it was the captain's turn to look shocked.

"Marry? You think he would marry you, a lowly merchant's daughter?"

(A/N: Ok, for those who are easily triggered by mentions of any forms of abuse or human trafficking, please skip the parts between the dividing lines. I'll use another line and some symbols like this #$#$ to signify that it's over.)

* * *

He laughed, "No, he would have you as, shall we say, nightly entertainment." _I'd rather die._ The man's ruddy face was no too close. "You've become lovelier with each year. Yavuz has noticed. He would have paid your father even more money, no strings attached." 

He reached out a hand to touch her face, but she flinched away from it. She would have spit in his face if she'd had any saliva left, though she knew it would probably be counterproductive.

* * *

$$$#$#$#$$$#$#$#$# 

(That part is over.)

Her mind could form no words. The walk from the docks had been too much. Adrenaline raced through her veins and between the exhaustion and the fear and the complicated web of thoughts, she couldn't breathe. Her muscles went rigid and she was instantly to the spot. He was coming closer, a mad gleam in his eyes. She felt a horrible twinging in her nasal passages; there was no water left for tears. Ayla began to panic. She wasn't going to _die_ -- she was going to be kidnapped and delivered to the _cruelest_ man ever to have lived by the second _ugliest_ man to have ever lived! But she knew fighting wouldn't help. He was too strong. Steeling herself, she waited, though for what, she wasn't sure.

"Sir," a vaguely familiar voice called out in sternly, "I would advise you to keep your hands to yourself."Ayla gasped when she caught sight of this third person -- it was the hooded stranger again.

Not that she wasn't grateful, but . . . _what the heck is he doing here??_


	5. No Such Thing as Street Thug School

Author's Note: This chapter has not been significantly re-worked, but I smoothed over some sentence transitions and sharpened some emotional descriptions. Hope it's better!

* * *

Artie suddenly had the feeling that he'd just done something very, very stupid. Mentally, he scrounged for a word foul and scary enough to describe what he was feeling. Crap. _Good job, Artie, very eloquent._ Suddenly the man's blindingly gold teeth seemed a little too close for comfort, though the man was a good several feet away. He was sweaty and scared and only fifteen! Though logic and instinct told him to run for it, he was rooted to the spot in terror and something else whose identity eluded him. _I should've kept my mouth shut! _But try as he might to convince himself otherwise, he would not have been able to remain silent and invisible. When it came to bullies, he just lost it -- well, unless it was Lancelot, then he'd just play dead or wait for great brute to shut up.

"And who the hell are you?" The man sneered, staying put as if in provocation, his hands pinning Ayla to the painfully uneven cobblestone road. Looking him up and down once more, Artie realized that this time, he was very much alone in this; there was no Shrek to scare the guy off, no Puss to give googly eyes, nor even Donkey to be, well, Donkey. _Tell him who I am or duke it out as a stranger? Tell him or duke, tell or --_ The girl gave out a strangled yelp.

Quickly, Artie began talking, "Look, you seem like a reasonable man." The captain shot him a surly look. "I mean, you're obviously very upset about something, so instead of exhausting yourself, why don't we settle this more efficiently?" Ayla, who had just been craning her neck to see more of the strange interaction, was now shaking from the nauseating combination of adrenaline and exhaustion; she let herself fall a little as the bulbous-nosed captain loosened his grip to turn and watched Artie closely. Suddenly the man spat, his hand now flashing with something silver,

"Do you take me for a fool, boy?" _Where the heck did that come from??_

Artie spluttered rapidly, "Of course not! I just thought, just - thought . . . " Breath failed to fuel his words as the man came closer until his bulbous nose with just below Artie's own. The captain flashed his gold teeth in a knowing grin.

"Of course you did."Artie felt something cool and metallic against the burning skin of his neck.

"I - I," he gasped, his eyes shutting tightly as the knife pressed harder against him. Try as he might to prepare himself for the inevitable, he could not; the situation was new and frightening and _god_, he wished he had just stayed in the palace like Puss had told him to! The weapon was pushing slowly deeper, only pinching, now breaking the skin a little. Had he not liked being alive so much, Artie might have yelled at the man to just do it all in one go. He hissed at the now paper-cut-like sting, balling his hands into trembling fists. _You've really put your foot in it this time._

Horrified at the turn of events, embarrassed at her inability to move, and feeling too many other things to know what what they were properly, she looked into the dark hood of the stranger, wildly hoping he could hear her thoughts. _Either do this or leave, but don't dally between the two! He's getting impatient!_

"Look, this is all I've got with me!" Artie took out his coin purse and shoved it at the man. It felt like 20 in local gold. The man's mouth curved into a something that looked eerily pleased. Immediately, Ayla stopped her desperate and, admittedly, futile efforts. What the hell was he doing??Did this boy think that this clearly deranged man was going to back off just because he threw his lunch money at him? And if, by some bizarre twist of fate, this person actually succeed, would she just have another psychopath to worry about? _He seems ok, but you never know. I mean, what kind of bizarro walks around like that in this weather?! _

"Why, thank you, young man!" The man simpered in feigned politeness before allowing his to face pucker in a most angry and feral manner. "I can't believe I've let you live this long, boy!" With an internal jerk, she realized that no matter how crazy this hooded kid might have been, he really was trying tipping the odds in her favor, and whatever his motivation was, at the moment, she could hardly care. _An ally is an ally -- at least for now.  
_

Unbidden, memories darted disjointedly through her mind: Dara taking her in, a thirteen-year-old Hakan accidentally burning his eyebrows off when he wanted her to witness his first (and heavily misguided) attempt at crafting jewelery, her father . . . She couldn't think anymore as another part of her mind took over. It was fierce and scorching as it rapidly consumed her and suddenly, she saw everything with a crackling clarity. An instant later, she let out a low growl before swiftly pouncing on the gruff man and knocking the blade out of his hand before he could register what was happening. In this moment, she saw red and not wasting a moment, Ayla unthinkingly sent a punch to his jaw that made his head crack to the side with a sickening sound. Her vision began to clear as the more frightened, logical part of her brain was suddenly jerked awake by the awful noise.

_Oh, my god. Did I just . . . ? _ An awful, stretching pang in her knuckles, wrist, and shoulder confirmed that she had.

But she'd let her guard down for too long and she was again painfully pinned to the uneven ground._ "_You want it that badly, do you?" His breath was rancid and sticky. She wasn't weak, she knew she wasn't! -- so why couldn't she fight him off? Logic told her it was purely physics and biology and that there was little she could do at the moment, and just as she'd lost all hope, the orange blur from before came into view again, this time directly so. _Is that what I think it is?_

_Puss??_ Artie couldn't believe it. Apparently, neither could the other two. The man chuckled, somewhat relaxing his grip on the girl and he looked up,

"Well, if it isn't a little kitty cat." Puss slowly made his way over and sat down. Gradually, his let bright eyes grow large and shiny, his furry mouth curving downward in a most irresistibly adorable way. And then, like a bullet, the feline was all up and at it."There!" Puss struck like lightning, brandishing his little sword with an expert flourish, "And there!" The man gasped and sagged to the ground as Ayla grunted and struggled against the weight of him, "And maybe there, too!" Soon enough, Ayla had dislodged herself and the man was sporting a primitive-looking "P" shaved into his hair and a few red zigzags visible through his slashed sleeves. "And now!" Puss raised his sword again as Ayla began to wonder if killing him was the right thing to do. Besides, what if Yavuz found out his brother was dead? He'd surely hunt her down and kill her simply for "leading him into it", despite the fact that the event had been completely unforseeable. _But killing the man . . . _The shining blade was now positioned right over where Ayla imagined the captain's most vital organs were located. She couldn't breathe. _This is really happening._ She didn't have to luxury of time and every second was another blow to her conscience. Then suddenly, against every thought but one, Ayla cried out.

She dashed forward and seized the ginger cat, hoisting him up by his underarms. Puss, the captain, and Artie all goggled at her. She might have laughed if the situation hadn't made her nearly soil herself in fear. Suddenly, the man snapped back into reality and not another moment later, he was gone.

Artie was dumbstruck. Ayla couldn't believe herself. What if the man came back for her? Ugh, of all the moments, why did she choose that one to be so childishly selfish? She could have lived with the idea of him dying -- _as long as you didn't have to see any of the dirty work. _She knew it would have been a just repayment, but -- she greened a little -- the very thought made her shiver in the August heat.

She was suddenly jarred from her thoughts by a very indignant Puss.

"I must ask you to put me down!" Puss grumbled to himself, "Oh, this is so embarrassing!"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**To all of you who've been reading this, I apologize for the many rapid changes, particularly the one from Melchett to Fiddlesworth. One of the reviewers brought up a good point, that it'd be better to have more canon characters sooner. I realize that the first version of the story was less engaging. Well, hopefully it's better this time around! Let me know what you think, just keep it tactful, please. Thanks!  
**


	6. Possible Side Effects & a Family Reunion

All at once, the adrenaline left her. Ayla swayed a little as she lowered the armed feline to the cobblestone road. Wordlessly, she began to walk away, but with each step, more and more black dots clouded her vision until, unable to see, she landed painfully on her knees, waiting for the little black dots to stop spreading. For a moment, Artie wondered fearfully if she'd recognized him earlier. He knew this was a little selfish, given his current circumstance, but he didn't want to be involved in this kind of stuff; it was too risky to be associated with whatever obviously illegal thing had just taken place. What had that been all about, anyway? Little by little, he became away of her low and ragged breathing. No, he could ask her about it later. For now, he needed to figure out what to do next. Artie cautiously descended into a crouch in front of the girl, trying to make eye contact.

"Hey," Artie asked softly, "You ok?" She'd meant to answer -- she really had! -- but she couldn't decide. Was she ok? As if on cue, Ayla felt a prickling sensation in her nose and a gathering wetness in her eyes. Swiftly as she could manage, she drew her forearm across her brow and the middle of her face, trying to make it look as if she was brushing away the sweat.

Artie sucked in a breath. He hadn't meant to make the 'boy' cry. Taking this moment, he surveyed the 'him' as he floundered for something to say. Studying the child closely, something caught his attention about the kid's face. 'He' looked like he should be around Artie's age, but earlier, his voice had sounded no lower than a eunuch's! But it wasn't his voice that was odd (after all, some boys just developed later), there was something 'off' in his face and manners, something he couldn't quite pinpoint. _Maybe he is a eunuch._

"Hey, kid." Puss laid a warm paw on one of Ayla's wrists, eyeing the blotchy redness in her cheeks, "You okay?" Eyes still closed, she breathed out,

"Water." Puss gave Artie a significant look. Artie shook his head helplessly. He'd only brought some money, which was now somewhere in Far Far Away, probably being spent on cheap booze and hookers. Puss looked from Artie to the girl and back, cocking an eyebrow. After a moment or two, Artie got the hint. Puss rolled his eyes. _Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?_

"Er, kid, I_ --" _Artie looked around, childishly wishing someone more ablebodied was around to help carry her, but, unexpectedly, he noticed a grimy sign. _The Round Table._ It looked like it was still open and, although Artie knew it probably served alcohol of questionable sources, all they needed was some water. He put up his hood and beckoned the two of them. _Shouldn't cost too much._

**AN HOUR LATER**

"What a rip off!" Puss moved on to swearing rapidly in Spanish as he trudged grumblingly next to Artie, who was, with some difficulty, half-carrying both Ayla and her bag. She was stronger and more alert after some food and water, but one good meal of bread and cheese (she had left the potatoes alone) couldn't reverse the damage of two months of malnutrition and an afternoon of excessive sunlight.

"I'm really sorry. I have some silver in my bag, only 17p, but I can . . . " She trailed off as she attempted to disentangle her left arm from Artie's right one, but he held on tighter, shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it. He would've just gambled it away, anyway."

"I prefer to call it high-risk investing." Artie went on as though he hadn't heard him.

"Besides, money is the last thing you should be worrying about right now." She resumed walking, too tired to really acknowledge Artie and, slowly, the trio made their way back to the palace, each one worrying about something different.

* * *

Queen Lillian was an absolute wreck. Her husband was dead, her daughter was gone, and just that morning, her only nephew, Arthur (or Artie, as he preferred to be called) had gone missing! Yes, she thought, she was very much alone. Lillian passed a hand slowly over her face, exhaling thoroughly as she sat down by the window. _Where could he have gone?_

At first, she had ordered the guards to check every Ye Olde Gamestop, but to no avail. They were sent out again and again until they had turned over every pizzeria, every archery equipment store, and every establishment that had ever invested in a game company. Artie was no where to be found. She was beginning to lose hope when, quite suddenly, there was a forceful rapping at the door. Was it one of the guards? No, she'd told them not to disturb her unless they found some clue of consequence. Was it Artie? Her window had a perfect view of the gates; no, it couldn't be Artie; she would have seen him entering the grounds.

_Still . . . _ Perhaps, in her distress, he was able to elude her attention.

"This had better be good, Fiddlesworth!" Lillian barked rather uncharacteristically. But whatever she had been expecting, nothing could prepare her for this. A large, green-faced redhead stuck her face into the room as the door gradually opened.

"Actually, it's Fiona." Lillian could hardly breathe. It was really her baby! In a second, the older woman was practically squeezing the life out of her daughter.

"Oh, Fiona, dear, you're early! Oh, I can't believe you're finally here! I've missed you _so_ much!" The queen must have held on for longer than she'd intended, because when they broke apart, Fiona was carrying an concerned expression on her face. This wasn't like her mother, who, in her mind, was always the calm voice of reason. Her father, however, was an entirely different story. Fiona's eyes darkened a shade. Although it had been months since the death of the late King Harold, Fiona couldn't help but wonder if Lillian had never properly dealt with her grief and if, because of that, she was beginning to fade in some vital way.

"Mom. Is anything wrong?" Lillian sighed, gesturing tiredly for Fiona to sit down, as well.

"It's your cousin, Artie." Fiona shook her head, mumbling under her breath,

"Boys."

"Indeed." Lillian wearily agreed, a wan smile tugging at her lips. She took a breath before continuing, suddenly looking much older than her fifty-six years, "Your cousin went missing this morning." She paused, allowing her daughter to take in the information. "No one has any idea where he's gone." Fiona looked up suddenly,

"What about Ye Olde GameStop?"

"Already tried." Lillian said softly, "We've looked everywhere, but he's just no where to be found."

"Um -- "

"I mean, we even checked a Victoria's Underthings, for goodness' sake!"

"Mom -- "

"It wasn't my idea, mind! Artie's a nice boy and he wouldn't -- "

"MOM! Artie's right outside." Lillian's eyes nearly tripled in size as her gaze shot the gates below. He was swaying a little, barely supporting some boy she had never seen before, Puss trailing behind. Fiona breathed, "Oh, my god."

Lillian shrieked, throwing her hands in the air, "Oh, of all times and places! Drunk!" She glanced at a grandfather clock in the corner of the room, "And it's only 3 in the afternoon!"

"Oh, I'm sure it's not that." But Fiona's voice didn't match the sureness of her words. She paused, trying to think of something to say, before her mouth widened into a slow smile. "Hey, mom."

"Hmm?" Lillian's face was to the window, her arms folded wearily, the corners of her mouth dipping down into lines that Fiona hadn't before realized were there. Shaking her head a little, Fiona continued,

"Oh, come on, he's a teenager!" Her relaxed voice betrayed her true feelings regarding the matter. Had that been her child, oh! He would've gotten an earful right from the balcony! She sniffed a little uncomfortably before going on. "Mom, I think this kind of stuff runs in their side of family, anyway. Seems pretty unstoppable." Lillian nodded absently. A few terribly awkward seconds dragged it feet through the room until Fiona was struck with an idea; her mouth curled up mischievously. "Hey, mom. Remember that Christmas when Uncle Uther had a little too much mulled wine?" Lillian, suddenly snapped out of her thoughts by the hilarious and somewhat humiliating (even for the others who had been watching) memory, guffawed in a most unladylike manner,

"Dear, I think you mean _every_ Christmas." As the tension cleared the room, they began to talk of everything from their lives, to the wonderful weather, to the ridiculous fashions that the nobles were sporting these days when a clear voice interrupted from outside.

"Shrek!" The voice reverberated excitedly in the corridor. Lillian and Fiona shared a quick look. Artie was back in the palace.

* * *

Shrek was getting impatient. He knew he had been right to give Fiona and her mother some time alone, but it was now half past three and he was grumpy and tired from the journey, not to mention hungry. Though the ogre loved his children dearly, at the moment, he was incredibly thankful that Donkey and Dragon had agreed (at the last minute, no less!) to watch over the triplets while he and Fiona took a mini-break from parenting. The little ones were now old enough to walk and talk and although Shrek was very proud of this, some nights, when they would creep into his and Fiona's bed, he wondered if it was such a good thing after all. 

"Shrek!" As his great, green head snapped to find the source of the voice, he had a split second to avoid being slammed in the face by one of the great oak doors to his left. Unfortunately, Shrek mused ruefully as he rubbed his throbbing nose, he hadn't managed his time well enough.

"Shrek!" The ogre quickly caught sight of the sweaty, slightly freckled face of Artie at the end of the corridor, his face radiating a joy whose magnitude caught Shrek by surprise. He opened his mouth so he could properly greet the boy, but someone beat him to it. _And none too happily, might I add._

"Artie!" Lillian cried out; the sound was enough to slow Artie's approach. He looked down, shuffling closer as slowly as possible. "You had me worried sick!" She let out a whoosh of air when she realized that he wasn't in the least, as she had assumed, intoxicated. "You're not drunk?" Artie gave her a strange look,

"Should I be?" Lillian, full of too many things to say, stumbled a little,

"Yes! I mean, no!" Her face was awash in confusion, "I saw you and that boy at the gate and you were zig-zagging a little. I just assumed." Artie had the grace to blush embarrasedly. The worry draining away from her face, she drew him into a hug, absently greeting Shrek from over Artie's shoulder, to which Shrek smiled (albeit in the somewhat strained manner of harried husbands). A few moments later, when the queen had released Artie, she held him at arm's length, her eyes suddenly sharp in their curiosity. "So where were you exactly?"

"Oh, boy." Artie exhaled. "We might want to go into a room with chairs. This could take a while."

* * *

**Meanwhile, in the palace infirmary . . .**

Ayla was vaguely aware of a cold stone table and a flaming heat in her hands, feet, neck, and face. By degrees, she became aware of a voice. "Come on, now, boy. You're going to have to wake up some time." _How encouraging. "_Come now, we must administer the draught before the hour is done." Popping one eye open, she noted a crisp white robe and a head of blond hair -- or was it white? "Excellent. Now, you're going to have to sit up a bit. After all," he tittered at his own terrible 'joke', "Wouldn't want you to choke on it, now would we?" _Very encouraging, indeed._

With the help of this mystery healer, she struggled to a slightly elevated position and soon felt a cool, minty liquid wash down her throat. It felt incredibly good, but a moment later, she stopped swallowing. She was still so thirsty, but Ayla knew she couldn't drink while her teeth were chattering so badly. _What the hell just happened?_

As if in answer her unspoken question he said, "Yes, chills are a side effect and, given the combination of your conditions, we were very careful to measure out the proper dosage. Too much could upset your body heat and launch you into a deadly fever." At her horrified eyes and suddenly slack jaw, he laughed with snort, "Oh, don't look so frightened! The energy elixir we mixed in should keep you good and balanced!" He cleared his throat. "Now that that's finished, you must disrobe so that I can check you for any injuries we might have overseen."

"WHAT??"

"Oh, no," The man tisked. "Sylvia!" he called towards the door, "Sylvia, he's gone deaf, too!" Ayla slapped her face in utter frustration and helplessness. _D'oh!_

* * *

Author's Note: yes, "D'oh!" was indeed taken from The Simpsons. 


	7. So What's Underneath That Robe Anyway?

"And then," Artie sighed as his story drew to a close, "I found Shrek." He had conveniently left out his reason for wandering so far into the backalleys of the city, but he was fairly certain they wouldn't ask, although he had a feeling that, later on, Shrek might. Seemingly of their own volition, Artie's eyes moved to focus on the object of his thoughts, and as he did so, he felt something pleasantly swollen warm his insides. Goodness, he'd missed that ogre like none other. In fact, Artie was convinced that Shrek had, for all intents and purposes, become something like a surrogate father. For a moment, Artie wondered what things would might been like had he had sustained an actual relationship with his biological father, but he was soon torn from his sullen musings by the rather loud laugh of his Aunt Lillian.

"I still can't believe you ended up at The Round Table! That's the seediest bar in town!" All eyes were suddenly on her. Realizing what she'd just said, she suppressed a small grin, "Oh, don't look so surprised! I was once a reckless youth, I'll have you know!" Fiona's eyebrows shot up to high heaven, but they soon came back down as her thoughts dug a little deeper.

"So is that where you learned to fight so well?" Lillian shrugged, her lips twisting cryptically.

"So, Artie, where's your furry savior?" Shrek suddenly asked. Artie could feel heat creeping up from his neck to his hairline. He'd been rescued by a cat in boots. He groaned about it internally, but really, there had been no other realistic way out of that situation. Yeah, where was that cat, anyway?

"Actually, I don't know. He was with us when we came in. Stuff was so crazy, I didn't really notice when he left."

Just as Lillian opened her mouth to say something, there was a knock at the door. She looked to Artie, "Is there anything else you want to tell us before I answer that?" His palms suddenly felt a bit sweatier, images of the father and son in the game store suddenly whirling about in his head. He didn't know why he was so embarrassed (was it embarrassment?), but he just was. Not trusting his voice, Artie shook his head. Lillian smiled supportively at him before turning to call out, "Come in!"

It was Fritz, the healer without a surname. He was an old man of average looks and eccentric tastes (though Artie genuinely believed that this stemmed from his real name, which he suspected was probably something foul and boring like Leslie or Carl). As per usual, Fritz was sporting thin gray socks inside a pair of brown leather sandals and despite the presence of his healer's robe, Artie was willing to wager a good coin that the man was wearing something blindingly colorful underneath -- or perhaps nothing at all. _Ew, ew! Oh, god! Why did I think that?!_

"Ah, I see that his Majesty worries for his foreign companion." Very thankfully unable to read minds, the healer had mistaken Artie's look of utter disgust for concern. _Phew! _"Worry not, your Majesty! Your friend should be as right as rain in a couple of days, but I should like to speak with you privately, if I may, about the financial matters of this case. Your friend requested that I bring this matter to your Majesty and no one else."Artie quickly shot a glance at Shrek, who nodded and waved him off gently.

"Off with ye! Ye've got important things to discuss." Artie smiled softly over his shoulder as he made his way to the door. "'Sides, how can we gossip about ye when yer in the room?" Artie rolled his eyes, suppressing a brilliant grin,

"Oh, I'll be back."

"Why, are you going somewhere?" All gazes were thrown at the new voice and its owner, who was languidly reclining on the threshold of the open window.

"Puss?" Artie asked with a slightly furrowed brow, "Where've you been?" The feline suddenly fanned himself with his hat.

"Oh, you know. Enjoying the sunshine of the day." Shrek raised an eyebrow,

"Ye mean ye went out gambling the afternoon ye knew yer most beloved friend was coming back?"

"High-risk investing, actually. And no, I did not." Artie snorted,

"Of course."

"Your Majesty?" Oh, right. Fritz. Artie slipped out of the room with the older man, leading him into down the hall and into another, walking swiftly until they reached the parlor that was secretly connected to his bedroom. As soon as the door was closed, the healer wailed,

"Your Majesty, your companion was not cooperating! He wouldn't let any of the healers take his clothes!" He paused hesitantly, seeming to himself. "I know it is not my place, your Majesty, but where in the world did you find this person?" Artie sensed that something not so good was about to come out of Frtiz's thin and suspiciously red mouth. He was almost certain the man wore lipstick. "He had grown delirious from lack of adequate food and water and, judging by the slight redness in his skin, he was also suffering from excessive heat." When Fritz was sure that Artie absorbed this information well enough, he continued evenly, "Your Majesty, we fear for - I mean, I - that is to say that, well, technically 'we' . . . " The man was sweating now and Artie suspected that it wasn't due to the heat, as the stone of the palace generally regulated temperatures rather well.

"Fritz. What happened?" The man cried, flinging his hands out wildly as Artie ducked just in time,

"He is missing!" Artie froze, wondering how to pose his question in a calm and mature manner.

"He's WHAT??" _So much for that. _The boy felt a clench of guilt in his gut as he regarded the face of a man who was clearly disappointed in himself. Artie's face softened sympathetiaclly, "I'm sure it wasn't your fault. What happened?"

The man bowed his head a little as he began to explain.

**[A little while ago in the palace infirmary . . . **

_"Sylvia!" he called towards the door, "Sylvia, he's gone deaf, too!" Ayla slapped her face in utter frustration and helplessness. __D'oh! _

_"I haven't gone deaf!" she cried angrily, panic rising, "I was expressing disbelief! GOD! Can't you people __properly diagnose anything? I mean, really!" Ayla ended in a huff and instantly felt the need to lie back down. Her heart was beating too fast._

_The male healer approached her as one would a corner animal. "Now, young sir, I merely wished to make a joke," he said with a sheepish and rueful grin. "But really, you musn't upset yourself. It won't help you recover any faster." Ayla nodded. Well, at least there's__ one thing we can agree on. She paused. Ugh, I just agreed with him._

_"Now, I'm afraid we cannot put this off for much longer. It is vital to your health that we examine you without your clothes on." Ayla jolted upright, her eyes wide with fear and alarm._

_"No." She swallowed anxiously. "I won't allow it."_

_"Now, now, young man, no need to upset yourself. This is purely clinical." She swiftly lunged off the marble-topped table and onto her slightly unsteady feet, hunching over the stone with a dangerous, desperate glint in her eyes. He shook his head and smiled mildly, "One of us is going to have to give in, you know."_

_"Then it'll be you." The man sighed in exasperation, putting his hands on his hips in a rather matronly manner._

_"Look, it's nothing unusual. I realize that body-shyness is very normal amongst boys your age, but I really must insist that you ignore it for a moment or two. That's all I ask, a moment." They stared at each other unblinkingly, each one unwilling to surrender to the other. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he tried to re-focus his energy, but when he opened his them again, she was gone._

_"_And in addition to his disappearance, I fear, your Majesty, for the state of his heart." _What?_ Now was not the time to talk about teenaged romance! Seeing, Fritz elaborated quickly, "Our most advanced and, quite unfortunately, most arrogant apprentice healer must have misjudged the boy's condition and made adjustments without consulting me." Artie was dumbfounded. How could he not have told him? Fritz was the Head Healer, for goodness' sake! "As a result, our draught was too strong. The amount of energy elixir is almost lethal and, the amount that was used can bring about sweating, palpitations, violent tremors, and, in the worst cases . . . " He sighed, looking even worse than he felt, "Death. By cardiac arrest." Pausing to let his young king soak in this horrible news, he then continued quietly, "I give you my deepest apologies, your Majesty. One way or another, we shall find your friend." Artie didn't reply. Fritz looked around awkwardly. Finally, he asked, "Shall I alert the guards now, your Majesty?" Artie briefly wondered why the man didn't tell the guards first, but he supposed that Fritz had been out of respect for him. _Strange, but understandable -- for once.  
_

"Thank you, Fritz." Taking the hint, he bowed curtly and showed himself out. In the back of his mind, Artie felt horrible for not reassuring the man that it really wasn't his fault, but he was too shocked to say much at all. _That kid could be dead by now._ With an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach, Artie belatedly realized that he didn't even know the boy's name!

Shoulders slumped, Artie numbly made his way back through the secret entryway into his room, trying to guess what it could have been. _Stephen, maybe? He sort of looked like a Stephen. _Artie slowed to a halt. He didn't remember taking off his boots, considering the fact that he was still wearing them and his only other pair was safely tucked away with all the rest of his winter things. An uncomfortable leaden sensation pooled in his stomach and roiled around in his intestines, but his curiosity drove him onwards. Suddenly, Artie gave a rather girlish squeal as he tripped over his own feet. Looking up for a moment, Artie immediately regretted his decision to do so.

At the foot of his bed was the still form of the nameless boy.


	8. Enter: The Bearded Lady

Steeling himself, Artie walked closer to the body, gulping nervously as he put his right hand directly above her face, so close that he was almost touching her. He was beginning to panic again when suddenly, he felt a soft, barely perceptible whoosh of air. Artie gawked.

"You're alive?" Unsure of whether or not the stranger could hear him, Artie went on quietly, "Fritz told me you were as good as dead." Despite Artie's conviction that she was asleep (_most likely, anyway_), Ayla was, more or less, drifting between consciousness and reality when his voice began to call her back. _. . . told me you're as good as dead. _She wanted to respond, but her body felt so heavy. Then the weight of the statement struck her. She couldn't die. She just couldn't! Not after everything she'd been through to get here! Gradually, she started gathering her energy; she had to wake up; she refused to die in the bed of a person she'd never meet, king or no. A tear of frustration slipped down, unnoticed by the two teenagers who were so deeply engrossed in their own musings.

Artie went on, completely oblivious to her state as she continued to struggle. "This is so surreal. I don't even know who you are." With a final push, she forced her leaden tongue to move, surprised that she was finally able to say something, though it came out as more of a tired breath.

"Ayla." Her eyes were still closed as she spoke, "'S my name." Artie looked on utter confusion. Momentarily forgetting himself, he said,

"That's kind of a weird name for a guy." Ayla suddenly jolted with the realization that, in her grogginess, she had just carelessly blown her cover. _Nothing for it, now. Might as well run with it. _Her momentary panic had awakened her and slowly, she opened her eyes. She could make out a young, freckled face, partially obscured by messy golden wisps, with bright green eyes glowing in curiosity. Yes, he looked trustworthy enough.

"Good thing," her voice growing clearer as she continued, "I'm a girl." She was looking at him directly now, her dark gaze showing an unabashed candor that unsettled and warmed the young king. It was . . . refreshing, especially after being around that ridiculous syncophant, Fiddlesworth.

"Oh." Artie said rather stupidly. Quickly realizing what he might have just implied, he stammered, "I mean, you're clearly -- I saw the hair and I just assumed that you -- well, I knew you were a little too weird-looking to be a boy." Artie clapped his hands to his mouth before stammering an apology, but when, out of the corner of his embarrassed, squinting eyes, he saw her shaking a little, he immediately stopped. "Ayla?" The foreign name felt strange on his tongue as he watched her pass a hand over her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She looked out at him through splayed fingers. "I wasn't offended." She was laughing softly now, her mouth slightly open in mirth as short black strands fell across her face. "I look this way for a reason." As his curiosity began to outweigh his humiliation, Artie ventured a glance at her and, but instantly he regretted doing so as a ferocious heat swept over his face. _Oh, my god. _Artie was suddenly hyperaware of something that he had never expected to feel in his entire life. _There's a girl. Lying down. On my bed. _Of course, the conditions didn't exactly lend themselves to anything remotely sexy or romantic, but Artie, unused to having girls even look at him except to glare, felt the immediate need to step away.

Moving in what he hoped was a casual way, Artie made for the window, pretending to be lost in thought when, gradually, he really did become lost in thought. How had this girl found his room? _Scratch that. How'd she get in here?_ Steadily, he voiced this thought, still unwilling to face the girl, lest he embarrass himself with his tomato-face.

She propped herself up on her elbows, "The guards showed me in. Told them I was hired to shine the king's shoes." She paused, "How about you?" Artie stiffened, still facing the window. How was he going to explain this? Maybe if he went go for the witty and nonchalant approach . . .

"Well, it's pretty easy when it's your own room." _Succe -- _He turned around and caught sight of her paling face as she, with some difficulty, scrambled off the bed. _Ok, not a success. Now what do I do??_

"I'm so sorry! I didn't realize - I - I thought you were the king's personal servant or something. You're just so young and I . . . " she trailed off, and was momentarily surprised to see her leather satchel sitting in the corner before moving to take it. The boy swiftly gestured for her to sit back down and, knowing who he was, she quietly complied, though secretly, she was relieved. Her legs were already trembling a bit. Somewhere in her mind, she cursed the young apprentice who had sabotaged her draught.

"Hey," Artie was looking just as embarrassed as she was. "It's ok. I - " he faltered, then continued rather sheepishly as he shifted his gazed to the window again. "It was nice to talk to someone who didn't know me for a change." He regarded her a tired smile and knew that his words sounded like those of a trite, spoiled royal, but looking at her jarred something in his memory. "Can I ask you something?" Ayla looked at him uncertainly; while her current situation was highly embarrassing, she reasoned that he was the king and, as she had just insulted him by accident, she was in no position to deny him anything. _Besides, how much worse could it get? _Slowly, she nodded. "Why'd you run from Fritz?"

"Fritz?" Her brows knitted together in confusion.

"The Head Healer." _Apparently, a lot worse. _Color rushed into Ayla's cheeks, skin burning a little as she asked in an even tone,

"Didn't he tell you?"

"Well, yeah, he said that you ran out after he asked you . . . to . . . take - oh." Understanding suddenly dawned on Artie's rapidly reddening face. Suddenly, an idea popped into his head and he cleared his throat, trying desperately not to seem awkward, "Well, if you want, I can go down to Fritz right now and have him send up a female healer." He felt the a goopy puddle of social awkwardness, as though, despite his good intentions, every word out of his mouth was digging his grave a little bit deeper. "But only if you, you know, want to. I could always just pretend you were never here - not that I'd just throw you out or anything."

"That'd be lovely." _D'oh!_ "The female healer idea, I mean." She then added quickly, "Your Majesty."

"Ok, I'll be right back."

She felt a weird, squirming sensation. Shouldn't _she_ be fetching servants for the king and not the other way around? Sure, she couldn't walk very well, but she'd manage somehow. _Besides, what else are railings for?_

"Wait!" She called out, suddenly not wanting to be left alone, paranoid that someone might come charging in before Artie would ever be able to make it back. "I can go down, myself, your Majesty." She averted his gaze respectfully. "I've already bothered you enough for one afternoon."

"Artie." He said all of the sudden. Ayla eyed him strangely,

"Your Majesty, my name isn't - " Artie shook his head.

"No, I know it isn't. I meant that you should call me Artie. 'Your Majesty' . . . it just makes me sound like I'm -- thirty." The corners of Ayla's mouth quirked up delicately, as though in suppression of laughter,

"Thirty is not so old." She paused. "Artie." His green eyes sparkled back at her in mirth before dulling down a little as he said,

"You know, I'd really feel better if you stayed here. Finding your way around this _floor_ can be confusing enough, but the infirmary is three floors down and I'm not sure if you should be moving around that much." Ayla noted that the slight tremors in her legs hadn't ceased; Artie was right. In truth, she hadn't really _wanted_ to go out on her own -- it just felt so backwards, having royalty placed in the position of a servant. Dissent had just felt, despite its utter idiocy and uselessness in the situation, oddly necessary. But, she figured, who was she to argue with the ruler of the most powerful kingdom in the world -- even if he _was_ a fifteen-year-old boy named Artie.

* * *

"So, that's what happened!" Fritz's light gray eyes widened in understanding. "Yes, yes. I suppose it makes sense when I think about it. A little too weird-looking to be a boy, that one." Artie nodded in agreement, distractedly wondering if Fritz had a way of reading people's minds from far away. "I shall send up Sylvia." 

"Sylvia?" Artie's eyes bugged out of his head. Sylvia was a massive woman of foul temperament and superhuman strength, and Artie was almost certain that she was somehow related to Doris and Mabel -- or, perhaps, a wild bear. (_You never know . . ._) She was also, however, one of the best healers under Fritz.

"Why, yes! She's our top healer! And as your Majesty seemed rather concerned for his guest, I thought it wisest to send out our best." The old man paused. "Unless you object, your Majesty. I could fetch Rosalind or Sandrine instead."

As much as Artie feared Sylvia, he realized with a frown that Fritz was right. What if Ayla developed complications later on because something small had been overlooked? Just because he'd been too afraid to walk up some stairs with a woman whose unibrow could provide more nesting ground than a discarded wig. "Not at all." Fritz's mouth spread in a wide, slightly dazed grin as he clapped his hands together and inhaled swiftly through his nostrils.

"Excellent!"

* * *

"Toots, are ya gonna open the door or do I have to wait 'til Christmas? I'm on a limited schedule, here!" Sylvia raised an eyebrow at Artie -- really, the whole eyebrow just sort of developed into one giant upside V. Resisting the urge to stare at it, Artie dutifully opened the door to his room and stepped aside. 

"Well, I'll, uh, just wait out here, then." Sylvia grunted in reply as she slammed the door shut behind her. _Sheesh!_ Exhaling noisily through his teeth, Artie took a seat on a gracious stone bench.

He supposed there was one thing he liked about Sylvia: she never pretended with him -- or anyone, for that matter. Perhaps in her studies she began to see people in terms of health status and not social ranking? Or perhaps the woman was just completely unafraid? (_Maybe she should've been crowned king. Goodness knows, she'd have been mistaken for one even if she was named an Infanta._) Artie chalked up her behavior towards him mainly to his age and his newness around the palace. He sighed. While it had initially felt wonderful being king (because no one would dare to even think of giving the king a swirlie), he realized it was a lot harder than he had thought, but not in the way that would have been expecting; the life of a wife-less king was incredibly lonely. Everywhere he went, people only saw a monarch to pander to or favors to be given, and Artie would have abandoned all the gold in the treasury to live a simple life in a small city or village with a modest house and a tiny garden. Though he knew he had been incredibly fortunate, the thought did little to quell the cold isolation that so often comes with great power. Was there no one who would treat him as just Artie?

His thought suddenly turned to the oddly-dressed girl in his room. The lonely, adolescent part of Artie was now insisting that he should have just said he'd been joking after his accidental admission about the room. She would have believed him. _But you would've felt horrible. _Artie ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Was he so desperate for company that he suddenly cared for the opinion of a total stranger? Of course, Worcestorshire had been a lonely place, but he was still able to be a kid. Here, it was like people were just waiting for him to screw up, to show them that he wasn't ready.

No, he was doing this. He might not have been king material from the start, but he'd been studying albeit sporadically the classical texts of past kings, trade records, the histories of as many kingdoms as he could research. Between that and the seemingly continuous string of stuffy dinner parties, he was surprise to find that he usually had time to wander about the gardens or, on bad days, stare up at his ceiling. He sighed again. It was exhausting and his emotional resources were running dangerously low. Sure, he had Aunt Lillian, but after the first three weeks, the woman had become somewhat withdrawn, if not a bit high-strung at times. But he continued as diligently as his fifteen-year-old mind could, because, as Artie told himself quite often, he couldn't disappoint his people. _Or Shrek . . . _In truth, it was mostly for the ogre; even though he knew that Shrek wasn't exactly an overbearing, perfectionist, Artie had no idea what he'd do if he ever let him down! It was gutting fear.

The door suddenly swung open with nose-cracking speed. "She's fine, toots, but she needs to stay in the palace to recoup for at least three weeks, just to make sure her heart and adrenals are doin' ok. I'd put her in the healing quarters, but there's no room." Artie cocked his head, confused.

"No room?" Sylvia nodded brusquely,

"This time o' year, we get stuck with a bunch o' similar cases -- dehydration, heat stroke, sunburns, the works, but they're usually in and out pretty quick," she suddenly lowered her voice to an angry growl, "so long as nobody tampers with the elixirs." She shook her head. "Idiot kid."

"Are you sure?" Sylvia stroked a not-quite-so-imaginary beard, deep in thought as she mumbled,

"Could just give that one guy some mint and fennel cure . . ." Sylvia looked back to Artie, "Alright, toots, I got a room for her, but it'll be another hour or two. I'll come and gets ya's when it's ready, yeah?" Somehow, he felt that it wasn't entirely a question, but, having no reason to object, he nodded anyway.

The burly woman then swiftly made her way down the corridor, leaving Artie unsure of what to do next. _Well, first I should tell her about the room situation. She ought to know about that. _Artie sighed. Why was it that he always felt responsible for everything?


	9. Who Says Cheap Presents Can't Be Useful?

Author's Note: This chapter is more drama than humor.

* * *

With Ayla now safely tucked away in the healing quarters, Artie felt as though he was finally able to breathe for the first time since that morning, and with fear out of the way, curiosity began to worm its way to the surface. What exactly _had _she been doing in that alley? And what did that man want with her? Was she some kind of runaway thief? Artie shook his head. No, petty criminals never spoke English that well, though some small part of his mind tucked the idea away for further examination another time. He resolved to ask her once she was better. 

In the mean time, he had Shrek to talk to. Perhaps the ogre would see what he could not.

* * *

"How are you feeling these days?" Fiona tentatively queried as she picked imaginary lint from her dark green dress. In her peripheral vision, she could see her mother's face stretch with a strained smile. 

"Oh, fine." Fiona's head snapped up. She couldn't stand this anymore. Who was this woman and what had she done with her brilliant, wonderful mother? Lillian was not going to come to her and tell her everything -- not until things were too far gone. Well, the ogress thought ruefully, she's still stubborn as a mule. There's still hope.

"Mom." She set her teacup down as though it would explode at the slightest touch and forced herself to look at her mother. _Or, at least, what's left of her._

"What do you want me to say, Fiona?" Lillian suddenly screwed her eyes shut, her face radiating a pain so powerful that it ached through Fiona as she regarded her mother.

"He was ready, mom. He lived a full life." The redhaired ogress soothed softly, carefully studying her mother's face and wishing that this new darkness would soon lift. She was jarred from her thoughts suddenly as her mother spoke a little more forcefully than she had intended.

"I know!" She inhaled slowly and looked heavenward with watering eyes, "There just -- " She took a shuddering breath as she turned to face the bookshelves, absently running a hand down the spine of some random book. "There was no time. To think about it." She bit her lip and fought the urge to sniffle. "Far Far Away had no king for weeks before we were kidnapped, and then _Shrek_ was kidnapped and then _Charming_ almost took over with his god-awful musical -- I swear my hearing has never been the same!"

Despite the sadness of seeing her mother in such a state, Fiona felt her lips quirk up slightly at this. So Lillian was still alive and kicking somewhere inside this strange shell of a woman.

"And now," her voice dropped to such a low volume that Fiona had to strain to hear her, "there's no emergency to distract me. With Artie as king, I have no real duties to keep me from thinking of - " Her voice sounded odd, a little frog-like, and it was almost worse than hearing her weeping. "Of your father." Fiona scooped Lillian up in a fierce hug.

"You don't have to keep pushing it away; you can't be strong _all_ the time." She paused, slightly unsure of her next words, "I can call the best empath to come and see you tomorrow and - " Fiona paused as she felt her mother's body jerk with a silent sob. "And you're not alone anymore. I'll stay as long as you want me to."

"But, your children, dear!" Fiona smiled and shook her head,

"I can have Donkey and Dragon bring them over. It might be nice for them to see their grandmother. What do you think?" Lillian gave her a watery smile.

"I think we can do that."

* * *

"So, uh, how's the swamp?" 

"Oh, it's alright. Really, it a much better place now, 'specially with the babies around. Though they really do extra-po - " Artie grimaced and hurried said,

"I know." Shrek chortled a little and then an _almost_ uncomfortable silence descended upon the room. It was almost worse than a full-fledged awkward silence. At least then, it had an actual category and basic protocol that followed. _Please don't ask me how I'm doing. No, wait, ask me! This place is horrible and I just -- No, actually, don't ask me! Oh, shut up, all of you! . . . Just play it cool._

"So, Artie. How's bein' king of Far Far Away?"

Artie snorted without thinking, "Makes me wanna _go_ far, far away." At the look of concern on Shrek's face, the boy suddenly felt dumber than the village idiot. Wasn't that the exact thing he had been trying so hard _not _to say?

"Why didn't ye tell me? 'S That why ye stopped writing?" Artie looked down at his slightly knocked knees and his worn leather boots, unable to respond. "Artie, why didn't ye just tell me?"

"I don't know, I don't know!" The boy mumbled into his hands. "I just couldn't, alright? It'd take forever to explain."

"Well, lucky you, I've got all night, although, I warn ye, I tend to fall asleep for a few hours before sunrise. Tricky habit of mine." A half-suppressed smile tugged at his wide mouth. "But I'll be here for the next week and a half. We'll have plenty of time to talk and we could even try to pull one over on old Fiddlesworth."

"Really? That sounds great, Shrek, but . . . "Artie's face fell a little. "I don't know how much time I'll have for fun stuff."

"What about for entertaining members of the royal family? Surely yer advisors won't be able to object."

"Ugh, don't tell me my cousin Morgan coming to visit. You know, that girl's a total weirdo and coming from me, well -- "

"Artie. I'm saying that you should schedule us in for an official meeting time. That way, no one will want to bother us and since it's the truth, no one _can_ bother us!"

"You've got a point. The only downside is that we can't leave the palace grounds. I mean, after what happened today with, you know . . . "

"Yeah, that was quite a - er, something." Shrek paused. "So, what d'ye s'pose he was doin' there in the first place?"

Artie blushed a little. "Actually, it's a _she_ and I have no idea." Shrek cocked an eyebrow,

"This place keeps gettin' stranger and stranger." _And lonelier. _Artie began to feel a strange trembling in his insides. "So, have ye done any christenings yet?"At this, the temporary dam in Artie's mind snapped. He cried and laughed in the same breath. Shrek's expression suddenly softened. "Oh, Artie -- how hard did ye hit the boat?" The boy gave a weak guffaw before his face screwed up even more. Shrek's shoulders slumped a little as he looked down at the boy in genuine concern, "Really, kid, what's going on?"

The boy shook with those months of emotional repression as he wished he could just rewind ten seconds into the past. Maybe he'd embarrass himself less the second time around. "Shrek, do you remember what it was like, being king?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I only mortally wounded a man while trying to knight him." Artie winced. "Oh, it gets worse. I sank a ship by accident." Artie sniggered, his nose snotty and his lips salty. This was what he loved about Shrek. Even when you were freaking out for reasons even you yourself didn't understand completely, he always seemed to know just what to say to make you laugh. The two sobered for a moment. "But I had Fiona with me." A quietly happy look spread over the ogre's face, his eyes shining with something Artie had only seen once before, though it was so long ago, he could hardly recall. "It was an exhausting job and I was incredibly lucky to have somebody to stick by me. And she did; she made it bearable -- even if I did rip my pants in front of the entire noble court and then accidentally set fire to the Great Hall!" Artie snorted, sending a small wad of snot into his esophagus; he made a terrible face. "Artie," Shrek grimaced before breaking out into a contagious grin, "Expect some Kleenex's on your next birthday. I think the pony can wait."

* * *

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2nd A/N: I think I ought to include that a song came into my mind while writing this chapter. It's Wilco's "How to Fight the Loneliness." You don't have to listen to it, but I know that some other writers on this website like to include lyrics. I just thought posting them might be saying too much in one go, if that makes any sense.

Also, let me know if it got a little too weepy. I just wanted to make the characters seem more like real people who have all the complexities of loss and loneliness and obligations, as well as their own personal problems and stories. And, yes, I realize that Artie didn't really tell Shrek outright how alone he feels, but I'm hoping the subtext leaps out and speaks for what's written. In any case, I tried to make it end on a happy note and I'm hoping it was at least a little funny . . .


	10. Tapestries and Mildred

With closed eyes and slowed breath, Ayla had waited for Artie to close the door behind him. After what seemed an eternity, she struggled up into a half-sitting position and threw her shirt violently on the floor before, as swiftly as was manageable, Ayla began unraveling a blue scarf from around her chest until it fell away, leaving angry red marks across the expanse of her chest and back. She fell backwards onto the mattress as she gasped for air, not even caring that she was now naked from the waist up; she was just relieved to finally be divested of that death trap!

Her thoughts turned to the examination that had just happened. Ayla had taken off the blue cloth then, but she couldn't figure out, for the life of her, why she had felt such a desperate need to put it back on again! Maybe it had become something like a security blanket? Or perhaps it was because she felt so naked without it? Ayla smiled wryly at the irony of the thought as she drew the sheets up over her chest, and though she knew that she should probably pick her shirt up off the floor, it was so filthy, she couldn't really bring herself to care. It was then that she realized the scarf was still clenched in her hands. Tentatively, she moved her arms towards the end of the bed and placed it gently over the headboard. By the time her breathing evened out again, Ayla had already taken refuge beneath the rest of the bedding, with only her head peeking over the top as she stared unseeingly at the smooth, white ceiling. Though her body was exhausted, her mind was in overdrive, whirling with unanswered questions.

How was she going to provide for herself once she left this place? Was the king suspicious of her? Did he think her some kind of fugitive crook? Her eyes darted nervously to the window. And was that vile captain coming back for her? She shivered and, unsure of the exact reason for it, she kept her eyes closed until, some time later, she fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

**The next morning . . .**

"Hey, where's Fiona and Aunt Lillian?" Artie asked as he entered the dining room, looking around as though he expected them to pop out from behind of the paintings at any moment. Shrek grabbed a piece of toast, his face slightly darker than it had been a moment ago.

"I don't really know. Fiona didn't come back to the room last night, but I assume it's something really important."Artie looked into the ogre's gigantic eyes and nodded, knowing that they both knew what it was about, but feeling that neither one wanted to talk about it -- not yet. "So, Artie, what did ye have in mind fer your afternoon appointment?" Shrek arched an eyebrow, his trademark grin straining a little as he buttered some toast. Setting down his fork and knife, the boy, positive that there was nothing to worry about just yet, feigned a pensive look.

"Oh, you know, thought I'd go for the usual wine-dine-dash routine."

"I'm not sure yer guests'd appreciate that." Shrek paused for a moment bringing a great, green hand to his chin, "Speakin' o' guests, where's the one from yesterday?" Artie eyed him oddly. "That weird-lookin' boy."

"She's a girl, Shrek." The ogre looked confused before nodding quickly,

"Right, right. Ye told me 'bout that." He finished the toast in one large bite before continuing, crumbs spraying shamelessly over his plate. "Yeah, how's yer girl?" Refusing to rise to the bait, Artie replied evenly, though his face seemed a little pinker than usual,

"She's in the healing quarters." He thoughtfully dragged his lower lip through his teeth. "Would you mind if we visited her? She must be so -- " _lonely. _"Tired of that room." _Phew!_ "Maybe she'd like to go for a walk with us." Artie looked up at Shrek expectantly. The ogre shrugged, though the young king swore he detected a hint of a knowing smile.

"Keep up this good Samaritan act and you might just get that pony, too." Artie snorted before cramming some toast into his mouth as he lead the way.

* * *

"That sounds great, mom." Though Fiona knew in her heart that this was the right decision, she couldn't help but feel a little sad. It was inexplicable, really. "But when are you going to tell Artie?" Lillian replied almost pleadingly, 

"Darling, I'll find a way to explain everything. As soon as I can . . ." The older woman suddenly flung her arms around her daughter, her eyes flinging themselves shut.

"Oh, this is all happening so bizarrely!" She fought the urge to sob on the spot, something she had taken to doing that rather often these days, when she was alone. Why did everything in this place have to remind her of Harold? Fiona held on tightly, not knowing what to say but not sure if words really mattered at this point.

The two women shared a moment of tense and reflective silence before pulling away from each other. The older woman looked as though she was about to say something when two very familiar voices came down the hallway.

"So you helped Puss." Fiona and Lillian exchanged a look. "And then ended up having to pay _more _money? Don't feel too badly, I suspect this happens all the time."

"Thanks, Shrek." Artie's voice echoed dryly. "I really appreciate that."

Fiona raised an eyebrow at Shrek. The ogre shrugged,

"Nothing too terrible. Just reminiscin'." He suddenly paused. He could almost taste it in the air; something was amiss. "So, what are you two doing in the hallway?" The two women shared a look so subtle, it was a toss up, really, as to whether or not it had ever even happened.

"Mom wasn't sure about this wall." Fiona began, "I say she should have the tapestry changed, but mom thinks it'd be a better idea to just put another one next to it." Lillian sighed, a strange look in her winter-sky eyes,

"I just thought that, well, with Artie, here, as the new king, it would only be appropriate to mix things up a bit." At this, the boy's ears perked up. What was she talking about? "And I think this royal tapestry could really use a compliment." Artie felt his stomach clench.

"I guess you're right; it _might_ be kind of nice to have two side-by-side." Were they still talking about tapestries or were they using them as a metaphor for - oh, god . . . _They want me to get _married_?? At _**my**_ age??? _

"Far Far Away has a new king now. It's only necessary that we have a little change of scenery. After all, two are better than one." For a moment, you could hear a pin drop. Just as he began to size up the approximate distance from where he was standing to the nearest exit, a thought struck him. Perhaps, by some wonderful, divine stroke of luck, he was terribly, _horribly_ mistaken!

"Aunt Lillian, "Artie looked up at her, his green eyes wide in barely-contained panic, "Are we still talking about the tapestry?" The two women looked at him strangely as Lillian replied,

"Why, of course, dear! What ever did you think we were talking about?" The queen and her daughter shared a bemused laugh and soon Shrek joined in, albeit a little uncertainly at first. "Yes, well, I've been meaning to ask you." Artie suddenly felt his stomach plummet and his hands go sweaty. Oh god, he was **_not_** marrying some dreadful beast of a princess! Mildred of Aramis had been bad enough the first time! At this monstrous thought, Artie began to wait for the axe to fall. "How would you like -- " Artie gulped. "To have this whole place redecorated?"

The boy shook his head. Did his hearing just cut out for a second? Judging from the looks on their faces, his hearing was probably still perfect, as they were now eying him with not a little amusement. "Oh, um, sure. Sounds great."

"Right. I shall tell the servants straight away!" Lillian beamed at them. "Come on, Lillian. As Artie and Shrek are busy with their own reunion, I'm going to need your thoughts on the new drapes."

Once the two were out of earshot, Shrek smirked at his young, freckled friend. "Jeez, Artie. What ever were you thinking about?" Artie was still in shock as he replied, pale-faced,

"Who cares? Mildred of Aramis isn't coming back." As the two began to walk towards the healing quarters downstairs, Shrek asked him,

"Who's Mildred of Aramis?" Artie shuddered horribly, as though the awful feeling still hadn't properly washed off since that dinner party, though it had happened months ago. And just as the boy opened his mouth to explain, a queasy expression souring his face, Shrek grimaced. "On second thought, don't tell me." _Ignorance is probably bliss._

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_A/N: As you can see, I'm trying to rein in the humor again. Am I successful? Did it make you cry tears of pain? I'm open to change, so let me know! (Just keep it classy.) _


	11. Grillz: All the Rage or Just Plain Rage?

**Author's Note: As I'm sure you've all noticed, the story has very quickly become less of a lighthearted affair than I had originally wrote it to be. It's going to get a little more complicated and a little less funny, though I'll definitely try my hand at dark humor, if I can do it well enough. So, um, let me know how you feel about this development.**

**ALSO I'm so sorry about the rushed nature of chapter 14-15! I pulled an all-nighter (unintentionally) and my judgment (and the story) suffered for it. But I've tried to fix it by changing the very end of this chapter, thus slowly things down a bit in the next two. Sort of. Anyways, sorry for two totally crap chapters!  
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**Now, on with the story! **

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Vaguely, Ayla could feel the mid-morning sunlight filtering through the window as the soft summer breeze blew across her naked torso. It was an interesting sensation. She felt freer now, in this one moment, than she had in last few months. Oh, it felt so refreshing! It was so delightfully wicked to be naked in one's room, away from prying eyes and chatty mouths. But even as Ayla gave a languid yawn as she stretched, cat-like, her back arching up from the bed, she knew this paradise wouldn't last long. There were healers to see and laundry to do. Suddenly, she heard a soft rapping at her door, swiftly slamming her back down to reality. 

Oh, god, she was naked and there were people outside her door! All traces of devilish amusement vanished in a flash as she looked around the room for her clothing. Oh, no! Where was everything?? Remembering the visitor, she called out in a strangled, panicked tone for whoever it was to wait. The door began to open and her clothes were still nowhere in sight, so, doing the only thing she could think of, she grabbed the sheets and wrapped them around herself as best she could, mentally willing her bedhead to go away as she strove to act natural. _Pretty easy when you're practically au naturel, eh? _Oh, shut up. Steeling herself, she looked up and directly into the soft green eyes. It was Artie, whose face now held an odd, strangled look._ If Shrek hadn't run off so suddenly, he might have said something funny by now! _**Doesn't that guy ever feel awkward?** Naw, he's shameless.  


"Oh, uh, I -- I'll just be going then." His voice cracked loudly as he turned made to shut the door behind him when suddenly Ayla yelled,

"¡Espera!" The boy whirled around, a stunned and bewildered look on his face.

"Huh?" Ayla, in turn, eyed him strangely. What was the _king_ doing here? Didn't he have . . . kingly stuff to do?

"What?" Suddenly a look of comprehension dawned on her now reddening face. "Oh . . . " At his still confused look, she pretended to pick at the lint balls on the sheet, "Linguistic slip-up." She cleared her throat as quietly as she could, though in her head, it sounded like she was hacking up a lung. "What brings you here so early in the morning, your Majesty?"

Artie shrugged in what he hoped was a casual way, "Oh, you know. I was just in the neighborhood - " _In the neighborhood??? _" - and I thought maybe you'd want to get out of here for a bit. We wouldn't be able to go outside the gates or anything, but, um, yeah." Venturing a glance at the girl beyond the doorway, he suddenly wished he hadn't. Her dark hair was wild from sleep and, in the morning sunlight, the skin of her shoulders glowed a soft gold. It was a sensory overload for the boy, who had never even been given the time of day by a female who wasn't related to him. "I'll - " His voice was a little too high. Clearing his throat, he pushed his voice into a slightly deeper register, "I'll just come back later."

"No!" Ayla was now no longer frozen in horror at the state of her dress -- she was frozen in horror at what she had just done. Slowly, she shrank back, a sudden sheepish look sweeping her features that warmed his insides. _Well, at least I'm not the only one embarrassed._ "I mean, yes. I would like to go for a walk with you, so, 'no,' don't come back later." At Artie's vague gesturing to the state of her, an odd look on his tomato face, Ayla hurriedly explained, "I can just ask to wear one of their apprentice uniforms, can't I? I mean, they must have tons of them, considering how many people were bustling about yesterday."

Artie looked thoughtful for a moment, his lower lip wedged between his teeth. "I suppose I can ask Fritz. I don't think he'd mind."

"Mind what?" They two teenagers jumped and Ayla lost temporary control over her makeshift dress, almost letting it slip. Recapturing the cloth, she held onto it with white knuckles. Artie stepped towards the man and explained the situation quietly. Observing him for a moment, Ayla couldn't help but smile a little. He seemed much more at ease with this Fritz -- she snorted in her mind -- It was less than she could say for herself. She hadn't seen or spoken to the man since her 'escape.' "I see. Unfortunately, Miss . . . " he looked to her expectantly, trailing off. _Oh! He wants . . . but if I give him my legal last name . . . _She knew that her silence was making her look strange, but she just couldn't tell him. If anything went wrong, it'd be too easy for someone to find her. _Just use mom's! Quickly, they're staring!_

"Zhang."

"Right. Well, Miss Zhang, I don't mind." Her face brightened, causing his to sag. "The Healer's Guild, however, would most certainly mind. I cannot give you an apprentice's robe unless you are officially working for us." Ayla looked about the room, searching one last time for her missing possessions. Even her sack was gone! The only thing left was the big blue scarf at the head of the bed. "But even if I could, I still would not recommend walking around at this time in your treatment, which -" He fumbled around absently in his pocket. "- is right here. Has anyone brought you breakfast yet?"

Ayla shook her head. "Pity. This draught is more effective fresh. Well, I'll have that sorted in a moment, but until then, do not drink this! It is meant for full stomachs only!" He made to leave when he suddenly pivoted on his heels, snapping his fingers in recollection. "Oh, and about your clothes, they were so damaged that the launderers took it upon themselves to dispose of them." With that, the man strolled off, whistling a merry tune that sounded suspiciously like "Happy Birthday." The two teenagers simultaneously thought, _What a nut job!_

Artie was still leaning awkwardly against the doorframe, again worrying his lower lip. "Your poor mouth. You'll run a hole through it like that." Inside, Ayla wanted to smack herself. She had forgotten who she was talking to! Luckily, he didn't look upset -- just amused and slightly pink in the face.

"Sorry about that." Ayla waved a hand, leaning back onto the headboard,

"It's not your fault." _It's so partially your fault. _Hey, cut him some slack! He did the right thing! **Oh, shut up, I know you're both right!** "I'll just, um, keep wearing this thing until I figure out what to do." She turned to eye the scarf. Maybe it could make a short dress? Ugh, this was hopeless.

"Be right back!" Artie suddenly blurted out and jogged out of the threshold and into the corridor. Ayla listened as his footsteps faded away. Jeez, for a king, he suffered terrible social ineptitude. _Crap, he left the door open. _She got up quickly and her vision swam as she clutched the headboard, her breathing suddenly ragged with fear and effort. Healer Fritz was right. She shouldn't be walking around. But she only had to walk the several steps to the door, shut it, and walk back. How hard could it be?

Placing one foot in front of the other, Ayla slowly but surely made her way to other end of the bed, when, again, she felt her head condense and the room sway. The figure of Artie stunned her into better consciousness. "Artie?" She breathed out, rooted to the spot. He smiled sheepishly,

"Sorry. Didn't really explain myself." He produced a small leather bag, much more structured than her own. Curiously, she noted that its resemblance to a student's knapsack. "Here." She looked up and saw that he was holding out what looked to be a pair of dakr gray tights, a long crimson tunic and a brown leather belt. Surprised, she gawked at him, before feeling her legs shake a little.

"I couldn't - " She slowly sat down, her dark hair falling into her eyes. "-accept. I really - I'm incredibly grateful, but I'm sure - " What? Sure that some seamstress was making a dress? For her? A stranger and commoner? _And who knows if that crazy Fritz is even going to help me on this one._ "On second thought, I change my mind. Thank you."

Artie politely stepped out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him as she changed.

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**Meanwhile, three stories up and several rooms to the left . . .**

"So, let me get this straight, Fiona." Shrek put a hand to his forehead, massaging the temples. "You're sending your mother to some French spa, because she's going through an interior designer phase?" Fiona sighed exasperatedly, flopping down on a nearby chair,

"_No_, Shrek! I'm sending her to a therapy clinic _slash_ spa, because she clearly has a problem!" She paused, choosing to ignore Shrek's mutter of 'Got that right!', before continuing in a calmer tone, "I think this whole redecorating thing . . . it's just a way for her to get rid of everything that reminds her of dad. It's like she's trying to erase him or something." Fiona took one of Shrek's hands as she looked pleadingly into his eyes, "Shrek, I'm worried. She clearly hasn't allowed herself to deal with - with it."

Shrek's ears drooped visibly. "I did notice a, er, slight change in her personality since we got back." His wife snorted in a rather un-princess-ish manner,

"_Slight_ change?" The redhead exhaled noisily, gesturing for the ogre to sit down. She took another deep breath. "Shrek. You know that, normally, we don't mix our family problems with people outside of it --ah! Don't argue! Donkey, Puss, and Dragon are just as much a part of our family as mom and Artie! -- Anyway, I got to thinking and it's - well, we can't help her. This is something she needs to be eased into, but we can't do it for her and with the babies, we certainly don't have the time." She paused, biting her lower lip before going on. "It's a place called Fairest of Them All."

"Isn't that Gladys' new business?"

After Artie had been crowned king, many villains were moved to give up their lives of crime and pursue their dreams. Gladys was an, ahem, older witch whose dream had always been to open up a spa in France, and a few weeks (and many bundles of lavender) later, she had achieved it. The woman had actually kept in steady contact with Shrek and Fiona, and though the correspondence had started out of guilt, it grew into a tentative friendship that seemed to strengthen with each letter. For Fiona, personally, it was nice having another woman to chat to -- well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. The swamp could sometimes be a lonely place for a woman.

"Yeah. I already wrote to her about this. She wrote back yesterday. According to Gladys, mom is displaying all the signs of repressed depression and anxiety." Shrek's eyes widened considerably. Sure, he knew that his mother-in-law had been sad, but -- oh, he had been so blind in thinking her totally invincible! Sure, she was a strong woman, but what strength could successfully battle the depression following such a loss? Wincing, he thought of how obvious this all should have been to him.

"So, when are you going to tell her?" Shrek paused. "And when are we going to tell Artie? It's not going to be easy, you know. The kid's probably going to be a little shaken up. You remember what his father -- "

"I know." Fiona cut him off. "I thought we could them together."

"But Artie might feel like, I don't know, like he's being abandoned again or something! I realize this is all necessary, but it's just a little . . . "

"Yeah. I know," she breathed, "but this needs to happen and soon . . . " She took a shuddering breath, not daring to look him in the eyes, lest she burst into tears. "I'm scared for her, Shrek." He nodded sadly before getting up to pull his wife into a tight embrace. It would all turn out for the better, they knew. But when?

"You know, if you want, I could try to tell Artie in a while, maybe about a week or so. Then we can tell your mother together. Might make it easier for her to see . . ." He felt Fiona against his chest before one of her hands gently pushed him away. Taking the hint, Shrek nodded.

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"Wow." Ayla said plainly. "That's probably the second most exciting coronation story I've ever heard." 

"What? Only the _second_ most exciting? Who's the first?" To Ayla's delight, Artie had started to loosen up a bit, and in turn, she her nervous stammering began to fade as they conversed about many things. He still clammed up every now and then, but, once she began to get over his royal position (or maybe she simply forgot because of his age and down-to-earth behavior), she persisted in her attempt to crack him open.

"Well, the first most exciting one happened when King Albrecht of Visigoth disco-danced to the throne, grabbed the crown, and tossed it on his head!" Artie snorted,

"Didn't he knock himself out with the weight of it?" Ayla nodded, feigning a serious look,

"Yep. And, actually, it didn't really land on his head. That was the romanticized version of the story. In reality, he was just incredibly drunk and his coordination was so bad that in attempting to crown himself, he very nearly missed his temple! In fact, the man was semi-conscious for the first three days of his reign, if I remember correctly." Artie laughed loudly,

"Yeah, then there's no way I'm disco-dancing. It clearly leads to trouble." (Author's Note: I couldn't help myself! I had to put that in there! It was so tempting . . . ) She smiled as she gently picked up the bowl from the tray above her lap and took another sip of the hot broth. Suddenly she jerked it away from her lips and hissed. "What happened?"

"Burnt tongue." She swore a string of colorful, but unintelligible things under her breath; they were not in English. Artie's eyes widened a little in teenaged admiration.

"How do you know so many languages?" She shrugged, though inside, she panicked a little. She had to watch what she said, lest she let loose too much information. _Oh, come on! What's with you? It's not like he'd send you back there -- right?_ Her stomach clenched. Fighting her fears, she replied casually,

"My father was a merchant in a major port city, so we often entertained guests from many different kingdoms. I might have listened in on a few things." She lips curved into a cryptic smile, mischief dancing in her black-brown eyes, though inside, she was praying that he wouldn't ask her more about her home. Artie looked thoughtful for a moment.

"So what was it you said to me. It was a while ago, but I was about to leave the room and you said something in another language." Ayla dug through her memory, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember.

"I'm sorry. I don't recall." Blushing a little at her earlier slip-up, she couldn't help feeling slightly foolish. After all, language was her domain. Still, she thought, it was one mistake. _No big deal. _"Sometimes, when I'm speaking anything but my native tongue, I say things that don't make sense or I mix up one language with another. It's like, anything that isn't my first language falls into a second category; it's like one big mess that I pick things out of." She paused to look at him, her gaze, open with the candor that Artie had seen in them the day before. There was something so singularly simple in that look that just pulled him in, though not in the romantic sense of the phrase; it was more fascination than anything else. Perhaps it had been this look that had made him want to see her again. "Does that make sense?"

Artie nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so." Ayla took another bite of the bread, chewing slowly as she thought of what to talk about next. "Shouldn't you be taking the draught soon? The longer you wait, the worse it tastes." An eyebrow quirked up as she swallowed the bread,

"Do you know this from personal experience?" Artie felt a little heat creep into his face.

"Well, yeah. It's a long story, but I, uh, had to help out this friend who happens to like gambling. Calls it high risk investing. Anyway, it was about two weeks ago and it was really hot. Anyway, long story short, I came home with heat stroke and bruised chins." The girl blinked for a moment, her expression unreadable. Oh god, was he . . . un-funny? He began to chew his lower lip when suddenly he heard quiet chuckling.

"Would this friend of yours happen to be an orange cat with a penchant for saving people in dark alleys?" Artie felt his mouth turn up into a small grin,

"Maybe." Ayla's face suddenly darkened as she remembered the captain and her laughter ceased, bread and soup momentarily forgotten. She looked down at her hands as she traced the patterns on the medicine bottle. At a loss for what to say, Artie remained silent. Had he said something wrong? It had only been one word, after all! Maybe his expression??

Meanwhile, the ravenhaired girl couldn't stop thinking of gruesome possibilities. If the captain came back for her, would he simply kill or would he finish what he had set out to do in the first place? She shivered. Artie's eyes softened in concern,

"Are you cold?" Ayla looked to the window.

"Artie. What floor are we on?" The boy looked at her, clearly confused with her question of choice.

"Uh, the ground floor. Why?" Despite her effort to keep her tone light, she couldn't fight off a growing grimace,

"Would it be possible to for me to move to another floor? I mean, I'm grateful for everything, but I just - I mean, what if . . . " Artie couldn't help but wonder where the _look_ had gone. She took a cleansing breath. "Do you remember the man from yesterday?"

_Yesterday? Feels like it happened ages ago._ He had so many questions about that, but, as he had decided the day before, he was going to wait until she was feeling better. Something about badgering a sick person just didn't sit right with him, though it was especially hard, as she brought it up, to fight his curiosity -- but he managed. Artie nodded slowly, trying to see where she was going with this. It took him a moment to put the pieces together, but as a look of understanding finally dawned on his face, he turned to her and said, "Don't worry about it. He'll be caught for what he did. Or, well, what he was going to do. Whatever that was." Artie scratched his head, losing his conviction with each new word. "I think."

He looked at her apprehensively, hoping desperately that he hadn't just said the wrong thing. After all, he had such rotten luck with girls, but to his surprise, Ayla started laughing, her eyes sparkling, (though a little less brilliantly than they could have been,) mouth wide open in mirth, her messy head haloed in the golden light from the window. This, Artie mused, must be what she looked like when she was healthier. Maybe Aunt Lillian was right, he continued, maybe laughter really _was_ the best medicine. _Oh, right, medicine!_

_"_Hey, you might want to drink up now. It's bound to taste horrible, but it should make you feel better." Ayla rolled her eyes, though she knew he was right. It was more to hear his concern than anything else. Suddenly, she thought of how long it had been since someone had badgered her into taking her medicine. Pushing that thought away, she forced herself back into the present. Now was not the time for sad reminiscing.

"But I feel fine."

"But you're also sitting down in a bed in some very comfortable clothing, if I say so myself." She paused a moment before allowing herself a small smile as she brushed the hair out of her eyes,

"Point taken." She paused, "And thanks for the clothes. You didn't have, though I'd have to really be touched in the head to refuse. I mean, prancing about in a sheet is not exactly the most desirable activity."

"Well, technically, there'd be no prancing involved, just lots of sitting and lying down." She smirked quietly,

"Touché." His soft chuckles died away as his face became more serious. He got up from his chair and grabbed the wooden chalice from the nightstand. Walking over to her, he plucked the bottle from off of the nightstand and poured the draught as he sat down on the side of her bed.

"Here." She thanked him quietly and took it from his hands. "Just do it all at once. Sipping is . . . inadvisable." She nodded once before taking a deep breath. Then, throwing her head back, she chugged the greenish liquid, leaf chunks and all. Oh god, she thought she was going to vomit and it had only just begun! "But about the floor-changing," Artie continued, "well, unfortunately, this is the only one for patients. The rooms directly above us are for the apprentice healers." Ayla barely heard him as she slammed the cup down, a violently ill look on her face. Artie had to hide a snicker behind his hand.

"UGH! I thought it would taste like the one from yesterday! You know, the nice one with no chunks!" Artie chortled,

"No, the one you had yesterday was probably an invigoration draught. What they gave you today was for speed in healing weakened muscles and dehydration."

"Ugh, are you sure that's supposed to make me better? Because I think I've just contracted a new illness." Dramatically, she gripped her stomach with one hand and placed the back of her other one to her forehead as she closed her eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" He couldn't keep a grin off his face, "And what new illness would this be?" But Artie never got to hear the name, as a rather loud knock shook the door, breaking their conversation with its sound.

"Jeez! Somebody really wants to see me." Ayla twittered. While she had managed to keep the apprehension from taking over her face, she could hear it creep into her voice. Artie shook his head as he waved a hand dismissively,

"It's probably just Shrek." The girl's eyes practically bugged out of her head.

"Wait. Shrek? As in _the_ Shrek? As in the ogre who almost ascended the throne??" Artie wasn't sure he liked her tone and he was about to say something when a huge grin seized her lips. "Oh, my goodness. I'm not even a noble and I have a king and prince to visit me!"

Artie blushed at this and, searching for something to focus on, he suddenly recalled that there was someone at the door. It was indeed the (in)famous ogre, eyebrow raised in question. Artie, in turned, nodded and, after a quick exchange between the two, Ayla bid them goodbye.

The next day, to Ayla's surprise and delight, he was back around the same time and he stayed until the lunch hour, at which time Shrek came around to find him. Over the course of the next few days, this pattern solidified until Ayla, finally able to walk a little, was meeting Artie at the door to let him in before he could even knock. Though it took some time and a little prodding, King Athur eventually, between the hours of 8 and 12 became just Artie to her.

And as their companionship quickly progressed, he asked her, once or twice, to describe the landscape of her homeland, but she only gave him the vaguest of details. After that, they seemed to reach a tacit agreement about not discussing their personal lives in depth, though the two daily exchanged many anecdotes and local tales, as well as many a discussion about the various ways to make healing elixirs taste better. ("Oh, that one's easy!" cried Artie, "Chocolate syrup!" Ayla snorted, "So if I had leprosy -- " "I wouldn't talk to you." She laughed loudly as he ducked away from her hand, grinning contagiously. "You're terrible, Artie Pendragon!")

One day, late in the morning, Ayla sat back on the bed as the conversation came to a lull and silently watched as Artie straightened up the pile of books on the nightstand. The day before, he had brought in a mighty stack of novels and collections of essays; Ayla was stunned to see that each one focused on something she'd mentioned days ago. While she greatly appreciated it, she couldn't help but wonder if the boy was rather lonely. It would make perfect sense, but . . . he was king! Or perhaps he was lonely _because_ he was king? Maybe he was just irresponsible or -- no, she was probably over-analyzing a simple act of kindness -- _even if it was a bit much._ A loud thumping at the door quickly pulled her back into reality. Ayla's brow furrowed, a bewildered expression on her face, "He's early." Artie shrugged,

"Maybe he's really hungry." The girl deadpanned, though he could detect a mischievous gleam in her eyes,

"Maybe you're in trouble." Artie rolled his eyes and, glancing one last time at the nightstand, he said his goodbyes to Ayla. Steadily, he walked towards the door, puns and sarcastic jokes swirling about in his head, but his grin dissolved the moment he pulled the door back. "Uh," the boy swallowed slowly as he shot a nervous glance at the girl, "I think you're right."

The golden-toothed captain grinned malevolently, but he wasn't looking at Artie. "Good morning, Miss Nedim."


	12. Reading Glasses or Smash Your Glasses?

**Author's Note: In case you didn't see the new ending for Chapter 13 or the note at the beginning of that chapter, then I apologize to you now for the awful quality of Chapters 14 and 15. I won't do any major overhauls, but read the end of Chapter 13. I hope it makes it more palatable/believable. And please read the explanation at the beginning of Chapter 13, as well.**

**Again, any comments/suggestions/questions are welcome, as long as they're handled with tact.**

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Shrek had spent the last few days skirting around the idea of Queen Lillian spending some time in France. He knew that Artie was at least somewhat aware of his aunt's state of mind, but he just couldn't find a good time to break the news. How could you tell someone that one of their only remaining blood relatives is on the verge of cracking and is being sent away for medical help? Shrek wanted to believe that it wouldn't, but the fact was, he just didn't know. Perhaps he ought to tell him now. The kid would find out eventually, anyway, and, knowing his family history . . . Sighing, he set out for the hospital wing, knowing that while it was a bit earlier than usual, it would probably be better to tell the boy now, before he changed his mind again._ Should probably tell Fiona we might be late for lunch, first, though.  
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"I _said_, 'Good morning, Miss Nedim.'" Ayla froze as he came closer. The wooden chalice nearly slipped out of her hand. "What, are you not happy to see me?" She couldn't speak. Artie was equally stunned. _"_Ah, pity." His mouth twisted into something frightening and greedy. The boy's mind raced. What should he do?? _Well, there's not much **Artie **can do, but **King Arthur** might be able to persuade him. _Steeling himself, Artie put on his best authoritative voice. 

_"_Look, here! As the king of Far Far Away, I demand to know what's going on!" _Oh, Artie! _Ayla's heart cried for him to run and stay at the same time. She didn't want to be alone, but a part of her felt she should at least be noble about it and offer him the option. _Not that I've chained him here or anything, but still . . . _No, now was not the time for politesse! Either they'd die or, if luck prevailed, they'd somehow save themselves. Oh, if Shrek were here -- _Shrek! _Ayla's heart skipped a beat. _If we can stall this dimwit until Shrek comes by . . . 25 minutes. That's all we need. _The man whirled around, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"Didn't you know? This cross-dresser, here, owes my brother a hefty sum!" As if slapped, Ayla awakened, then growled low in her throat as the harsh syllables of Telmar that issued forth.

"I owe you nothing!" Artie could barely breathe; the room crackled with an electric intensity. The man cocked his head to one side, the dangerous glint never leaving his eyes. While she knew Artie had no choice in the matter of hearing this horrible conversation, if he couldn't understand it, maybe . . . She didn't even know _what_ she thought. To her dismay, the man continued in English.

"No, perhaps not -- but your father did. Under the table, of course." Suddenly, her mind was simultaneously working too fast and too slow. The bizarre note her father had left her, the seemingly unprovoked disowning, the dead man she had found in the living room . . . "Yavuz is very upset, Miss Nedim. He wants his payment."

"Nedim?" Artie's head snapped to Ayla's face, confusion and betrayal practically radiating from him.

"My father's family name." She quickly supplied, her stare never leaving the captain's.

"Look, sir," Artie yelled, "I don't know who you think you are, but as king -- " The man barked immediately,

"HA! Who do _I _think I am??" He then circled Artie in the slow, threatening manner of a hungry shark. "Yes, yes. Not a day over 12." Artie's face reddened. "You must be one of the royal servants." His voice reached a level of deadly calm before, without warning, the man struck Artie hard across the face, causing him to slam, back-first, into the wall-space by the door. His vision swam, his ears rang, and his nose bled onto his light blue tunic. _Oh, god! _Ayla cried internally. Her only ally had just passed out cold.

"As I was saying," he continued lightly, "since your father -- " She ground out in the guttural tones of her native tongue,

"You leave him out of this!" She barely realized that she had even made a linguistic switch; her hands were cold and sweaty now.

"Have it your way." he said in their regional tongue; he continued with narrowed eyes and hissing speech, "Believe what you want, girl, but with your father - " she bristled at this, shaking from an overload of emotions, too bombarded to speak, " - dead, the law requires _you_ to satisfy his debts." At this, she mentally, she ripped off his head with her teeth and used the limbs to beat his his body to a bloody pulp. On the outside, though she didn't notice it, she was trembling now -- but with rage. The man, however, grinned in deranged glee, as he mistook this for fear. "Now, now, don't fret. I will see to it that you are well taken care of."

As Artie fought to stay awake, he vaguely noted that he was unsure of who was scarier, as the moment she snarled wildly, "The hell you will!" She fought hard against the desire to dislocate his jaw; her eyes darted to the clock in the corner. _23 minutes. _"I will go nowhere with you! I owe your brother nothing! And how dare you threaten me! If the deal was made under the table, then how can you even presume to side with the very law that would condemn you for such an act?" She spoke slowly, forcing herself not to check the time again, lest the man catch onto her scheme. "I am not obligated by any means! And in any case, I am no longer his daughter in legal terms." A terrible silence clogged the space, padding the room in its grainy, wet sand. _The calm before the storm. _She felt something inside her begin to crack. Her vision swam. She heard herself swear loudly. The man simply laughed in an eerily pleased tone,

"Oh, so you're Alanian after all!" He paused to make a mockingly pensive face, chin in hand, "Funny, you look more like a foreign dog to me!"

**Author's Note: If you are sensitive to triggers regarding sexual violence, please do not read the next section within the lines. I will write again in bold when the section is over, and I apologize if even this brief mention has caused you any disturbance of mind.**

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Against every fiber of her being, she swallowed her fury. _I have to make him mad enough to lose his senses a little, but if I yell too much, he'll probably kill me on the spot. _She glanced furtively at the clock again. _21 minutes._ _"_Legally related you might no longer be," he stepped towards the bed and touched her hair lightly, delighted to see how she had frozen in fear, "but his blood still runs in your veins. That's good enough for Yuvaz, so it's good enough for me." He paused, a dangerous grin slowly stretching his frog-like mouth, "You know, as two people of the Mother Kingdom, I am sure we can work out some way to . . . satisfy these debts." She jerked her head away, wanting desperately to run for the door, but she couldn't leave Artie behind. Her lungs felt crushed. There was no way she could carry him. She could barely walk for than a few meters without feeling dizzy, but she could feel that she was standing now, chin jutting out in defiance. Her insides trembled.

_"_Leave me!" Ayla gritted out as she tried her best to steady her shaking hands. "I owe you nothing!" Lightning fast, he raised his hand and the resounding crack nearly split her ears. She fell back onto the bed. In a moment, he was on her, tearing at her clothes. Not caring if anything horrible came of it (_What could possibly be **more** horrible?? This is a fate worse than death!_), she sent a piercing shriek from her throat, screaming nonsense, screaming anything to anyone who would listen. He slapped her again and again, causing her once to bite into her tongue, but even when she began to see stars, she would not stop. She _could_ not stop.

"YOU WORTHLESS LOWLIFE! I'LL GUT YOU FOR THIS! GET OFF!" Artie's blood was boiling, and though his mind was now fully awake, his body just wouldn't co-operate. And although he could not understand the harsh syllables, there was no doubt in his mind as to what was happening -- what was about to happen. _Not this girl, not **her**._ Not the one who, for the past several days, made life in the palace that much more bearable? Of course, there was Shrek, but the ogre had been oddly absent and their conversations now reverted either to girls or, rather pitifully, to the weather. He heard Ayla give a terrible screech. Some ferocious will in his mind began to shake in fury, but it was no use. He nearly cried in dismay and frustration. Ugh, why couldn't he _move_??

"SHUT UP, GIRL! I GROW IMPATIENT."Against her better judgment, she bit into one of his hands and, while he was distracted with the pain, she screamed again for help anyone who was around to help them. Where were all of the healers?? Frantically, she eyed the clock. _18 minutes._

She was now shouting uncontrollably, not even caring what she said as long as she was loud. "GET OFF ME! I"LL KILL YOU! I SWEAR I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"THEN WHY DON'T YOU TRY, LITTLE GIRL?!!" He sneered at her before abruptly ripping the borrowed shirt open, her small breasts exposed; she felt dirtier than tar and pond scum. She needed to burn him, kill him if she could. A tear, against her will, slipped down her cheek, leaving a silver trail. The man's face contorted in a strange and soft way that made her neck prickle in a fear that quashed any hope of redemption for this man. "What a shame. A fair creature like you should not be available to all." _Thought you called me a foreign dog, earlier. Must've gone deaf for a moment there, you fucking -- _"We shall soon remedy that!" His eyes gleamed with something like insanity.

Another moment of heavy silence slammed down. She heard the frantic hammering of her blood. As if on cue, life suddenly accelerated as she began kicking, scratching, biting, and pulling, but she was quickly tiring. Ayla knew she would not last much longer, and just as he descended his fat, ugly lips, the tiny crack inside her brain snapped completely. She saw red. The next few moments, she would never be able to recall with complete clarity, but one minute the man was forcing his mouth on her and the next, he was on the floor, clutching his jaw as she flexed her hand; it felt horrible and powerful and painful and sweet -- a psychotic rush that made her heart race even more.

A bluish blur moved by the door, but she barely noticed. She couldn't feel, couldn't speak, couldn't see anything but the blinding rage that so seized her being. She was shaking now, so hard that the room looked a little hazy as a result. The man was advancing again -- and quickly.

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**Author's Note: OK, major triggers are gone, but the first two sentences of the next paragraph might trigger you, but they're essential to knowing what happened. Again, I apologize if this causes you any grief. Please let me know if there's anything I can do or if you know a better way to do this.**

Just as he pounced on her, pinning her to the bed, she prepared to ram her knee into his crotch, when suddenly she soon heard a painful shattering. Tiny shards of glasses softly passed down her face and around her body. Vaguely, she noticed that an enormous weight being pushed off of her. Gradually, her senses began to return; she heard crying. Opening her eyes, she saw Artie's green ones wide open, his nose and lips bloodied. Suddenly, she realized that she was the one crying and, all at once, she sat up, not even bothering to brush off the dusty glass powder, and sat, her legs over the edge of the bed, her head in her trembling hands. Ayla shuddered violently with a suppressed sob and before she knew it, Artie had taken his own shirt off and, numbly, she took it and put it on, though the fit was strange over the bulk of her torn one. She hadn't thought to take it off; right now, she just couldn't think. Absently, she could feel warm arms around her. For the first few moments, the instinct was to push him away, but when she thought of where she'd have been without him . . . She held on even tighter, feeling like she wanted to punch him and let him hold her at the same time, and though she also felt badly for making a snotty, bloody mess of his shirt, but she was too much in shock to really say anything. Through the whirling inside her mind, she heard Artie's soft voice repeating soothing words over and over again; it seemed as though he, too was in shock and at a loss for words, but ithe gesture was kind and, moments later, seemed to work.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

Suddenly Shrek skidded to a halt in front of the doorway of the room. He opened his mouth to say something when he saw the unconscious man, the crying girl, and the bloody-face boy he'd been looking for all morning. He stood, dumbstruck, and said quietly, "Though I suspect I'll definitely want to know more later, I think right now I'd rather not." The girl gave a strangled laugh before it turned into another sob. It was as though the her story was pouring through her tear ducts, and though she was unable to speak. Inane though it might sound, to Ayla, it was a good portion of her confession.

Shrek's eyes went wide when they caught the glittering shards of glass and the angry red marks on the man's face. "Look, I understand it must have been a sticky situation just now, but you didn't have to _kill_ the guy! Not yet, anyway."

"I didn't," she breathed softly against the boy's wiry chest, feeling stupid and clichéd and weak and repulsed and yet drawn. She knew it was all foolish and that she was just upset, but it was so hard to control anything in her head at the moment. "Artie . . ." Unable to make the words forms, she sobbed even harder.

Shrek quickly looked to Artie's face, worry written all over his face. "You okay, kid?" He nodded slowly, replying with a hoarse,

"Yeah." Artie whispered into her hair, absently gawking at this, but his shock at the situation overrode the urge to blush and stammer before running away. "Hey, you okay, Ayla?" Upon hearing her name, her head snapped up, accidentally getting him on the chin. They both winced and apologized siultaneously. Shrek gave her a sympathetic look before shifting his gaze the unconscious sleazy man on the floor. Shaking his head, he roughly grabbed the man, holding him out as though he carried some foul disease.

"Come on, you, two. The healers were advised to get out of here five minutes ago. I think it's about time for you to follow." _So that's why no one heard me before! But, hang on, how did -- oh, my god. It's Shrek! THE Shrek found us! . . . But how?_

Artie voiced this and Shrek replied, "I told you. I was looking fer ye all morning and I thought that by now ye'd be out of the healing quarters but . . . I suppose they're right when they say the last place you'd look is the first place to find what you're missing. Or who, anyway." Shrek grimaced, jangling the squat man, "And who's this scum?"

Ayla, now being heavily supported by a struggling Artie, gripped his arm all the tighter. Artie told him quietly that he would fill him in later. Nodding in understanding and pity, Shrek continued along the hallway. "Artie, take her to some other room. I'll take care of this guy."

"What are you going to do?" Ayla asked, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper, lest she wake the man. She knew it was illogical, but the fear was so intensely gripping! Artie noted the fierce clenching and put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

"Puttin' him where he belongs -- with the dungeon rats." Ayla's face must have shown something of her thoughts, because Shrek stopped abruptly and placed a large hand on her shoulder. She flinched visibly, so he took it away, at first feeling a little hurt, but then he remembered what little he knew of what had happened. "Ayla -- that _is_ your name, isn't it?" She nodded. "If it'll make you feel better, I will personally guard this sewer rat until we decide what to do with him."

As Shrek made his way to the dungeons, Ayla and Artie eventually made their way three floors up and 11 rooms to the left.

The girl was nearly asleep by now. The boy whispered her name as he laid her down on his bed, trying to keep her awake. "Ayla, I'll be right back, ok?" She made a whimpering noise of protest. "Shh, I'll be back. I'm just going to tell one of the servants to get a water basin and and some towels, but -- just don't fall asleep, ok?" She barely nodded. Taking a moment to study her face, something violent exploded in his ribcage. There was a bit of dried blood around her nose and angry red blotches on both cheeks where she had been struck.

Shuddering, Artie marched out of the room, certain that if he stayed any longer, his brain would implode on itself in unadulterated hate for the vile creature that did this to the first real companion he had had since elementary school. Granted, they had only known each other for a few days, but it had felt like so much longer. And more besides, the circumstances for their meeting and the thing that nearly came to pass just now . . . it was as though something vital and unbreakable had been forged here, something like what he had with Shrek, though to a slightly lesser degree.

"Rob! Hey, Rob!" Artie called out to one of the guards around the corner. The man halted, bowed, and marched forward.

"What can I do for you today, your Majesty." Despite himself and the gravity of the situation, Artie rolled his eyes,

"Rob, please don't call me that. My name's Artie." The boy could swear the man was blushing underneath his visor.

"Of course, your -- Artie. Now, what can I do for you?" The boy's face darkened as he suddenly radiated an authority befitting his station,

"Please alert all members of the High Council that there is to be an emergency trial to be held this afternoon in the throne room. And please," his tone softened, "have someone tell Shrek as soon as possible."The man nodded, his face glowing at the very prospect of being able to actively serve the king.

"I'll not let you down, your Majesty!" Artie put a hand on his shoulder, feeling a little awkward,

"Hey, what happened to Artie?" The man stammered for a moment before Artie heard a chuckle escape his lips, "Don't worry about. Oh, and if you could please send for some towels, a bowl of hot water, and Fritz to come to my room as soon as possible, I'd really appreciate it."

"Of course, you -- Artie." The young king gave the man a small smile before going back down the hall at a brisk pace. When he re-entered the room, he made sure to close the door softly, so as not to startle her. As he approached the bed, he saw that her eyes were open and unseeing. For a moment, fear gripped his heart, but it fled the moment she spoke, though her pale face did not move to greet him.

"Hey, there." He smiled softly at her,

"Hey." She inhaled deeply and turned her head towards him, wincing at the movement. The red spots on her face had darkened to translucent purple bruises laced with little punches of acidic yellow. "You know," she croaked through a slightly-pained smile, "that was an awful long time to go looking for something you didn't come back with." Artie blinked. And then he was laughing a little.

Slowly, the quiet mirth in his eyes gave way to something more serious. He flopped down unceremoniously at the other end of the bed, but he sensed her recoil for a moment. As he moved to get up, she sat up a bit and put a hand on his forearm. "Don't worry about it. I can move -- "

"Don't be ridiculous!" Artie motioned for her to stay. "We're both obviously in need of this ridiculously large bed. There's plenty of space for the both of us." He paused. "But if it'd make you less, um, uncomfortable, I can go sit at my desk and -- "

"No, no, this is your room. If anyone should move it should -- " she took a moment to re-evaluate her words. "Never mind. We're both being utterly ridiculous." She gasped suddenly and for a moment, Artie thought she was hurt somewhere else, but he dismissed her next words with a wave of his hand, "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to imply that -that - oh, boy! I've really stepped in it now!" She wanted desperately to lie back down, but her mind was still on red alert. It was as though she was physically incapable. By the time she had settled back down, flexing her toes as if to confirm their existence --

"You certainly have, my dear." Healer Fritz, in his flowing white robes, was walking towards the bed now. Ayla was almost certain that the man had the power to walk through solid objects; she hadn't heard him come in at all! "Oh, dear. You really _have_ stepped in it this time! There appears to be a small gash in bottom of your left foot!" He clasped his hands together, a fascinated look shining through the veil of worry in his eyes. "Now," he turned to Artie abruptly, "your Majesty, if you would give me a brief summary of your injuries, then I shall move on to your comrade and -- "

Sylvia bustled through the door, sweat glistening above her thick brow. "Hot water, fresh towels. Here you go, toots. Now which one o' yous twos wants to follow me into the bath room to get cleaned up and checked out first?"Artie gulped nervously as the woman placed the steaming basin on his desk.


	13. What a Dizzy Dance We Do!

**Author's Note: In case you haven't re-read the ending of chapter 13 and the very beginning of chapter 14, then here it is: I stayed up all night by accident and ended up writing two crummy chapters (14 and 15), so I apologize for subjecting you to that. I've just gone back and tweaked some details. I think it's better now, though there was really nowhere to go but up. **

**Again, if you have suggestions, comments, or questions, please don't hesitate to message me, but please keep it tactful.**

**And to some of the reviewers, I wrote you emails and um, ignore the spelling mistakes and points of inane grammar. (I think I was typing a little too fast.) **

**So, um, thanks for reading, sorry it was bad, hope it's better, now on with the show!  
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Bathed, examined, and dressed, the two teenagers were given their respective remedies with their own set of complicated directions and explanations. 

"Now, that should keep you from any dizziness, aching, excessive sweating, shaking, and inordinate amounts of swelling. Quite unfortunately, it might impair your motor skills, but only slightly." The two looked apprehensively at their bottles. "Shall I tell Robert to send for lunch, your Majesty? With the royal food tasters?" Artie nodded absently, still shuddering inside at the experience inside the bathroom. For a healer, that Sylvia was not very gentle.

Ayla's face greened a little as she pretended to remove imaginary lint balls from her borrowed leggings. The thought of food just made her stomach turn. Perhaps it was because she was so hungry that she felt sick? Or was it just plain old nausea?

The rest of the hour was something of a blur, consisting of lunch, Artie nervously explaining what was going to happen that afternoon, a quick talk with Fiona, Ayla receiving an old dress of her's so she'd have something to wear in front of the High Court. The last event of the hour was the hardest one of all -- the guilt-wracked explanation to Aunt Lillian, who was, after all, the High Justice. (Since Artie had been king for under a year, he was not yet inducted into the Order of Justice, though he was granted the right to overrule anything he didn't like.)

Afterward, the trio had moved into the parlor to discuss the basic details, though it was mainly Artie talking and Ayla nodding, body trembling and eyes glassy. Shortly thereafter, Lillian requested that Ayla first change for the hearing and then that, afterward, they speak privately. Artie had nodded and said that he needed to find someone anyway. When Artie had finally left the room, the Queen turned to the young girl.

"Dear," the older woman's crystal eyes lit up in compassion, "I cannot even begin to imagine what you're feeling right now, and I would like to apologize for this whole - for all this. While I do not know how that man infiltrated the palace, rest assured, we will find out." She searched out Ayla's gaze, tentatively placing a comforting hand on the girl's cold and sweaty one. "Justice will be served." Seeing that Ayla was clearly in no state to talk, she forced a pleasant smile. "Now, I shall tell you a bit about the court system here, so that it's not so frightening and confusing later . . . and perhaps we could do something with your hair?"

The girl nodded, not really listening as she worriedly twisted the deep blue material of the borrowed dress; it didn't fit her perfectly -- the bust was a little too big and the skirts were a little too long -- but if it would make her look less like a lying street rat, then she would wear it. Besides, it wasn't everyday that she got to wear the dress of a -- oh, dear! Suddenly she remembered who the garment belonged to and immediately ceased playing with it, though she began to anxiously trace her fingerprints with the nails instead. _  
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**HOURS LATER **

Ayla began to stitch the holes in her blue scarf; it was a nervous habit she had picked up from her old neighbor, the Widow Ilahi, but at the very least, she mused, it was a practical one. The sewing continued, albeit a little more slowly, as her thoughts returned to the events of the day.

The hearing had been simple enough. All witnesses had been called forth to speak their piece. But Ayla had trembled fiercely at the sight of the man being led up in chains, to stand in the left pulpit, a murderous expression on his face. Needing to just be doing something, anything to distract herself, she felt incredibly tempted to take her hair out of its many pins and ribbons, but then she thought of how Lillian, at the last minute, had tried to arrange her hair into something that spoke more of trustworthy refinement rather than boyish vagabond. _Probably out of guilt more than anything, but a nice gesture all the same._

**"We have convened, at the behest of King Arthur Pendragon of Far Far Away, who does charge Yavuz of Alanya, of the following crimes . . . " The girl froze. __****What??** "Now, please rise and proceed to the first three rows of benches if you are one of the following so that we may administer the truth serum: the injured party, healers tending to the accused and/or the injured party, and any witnesses. The accused has already been given his dose in the interrogation preceeding this gathering." _**WHAT??**_

**Ayla barely heard the testimonies, though it hardly mattered; it wasn't as though she wanted to listen to slightly different versions of the same heinous thing over and over again.**

**"State your name." Those who knew the Queen well could hear the bite in her tone, though to most of the people in the room, it merely sounded like a stern command.**

**"Yavuz," the man ground out, clearly not pleased at having been force-fed Truth serum.**

**"And from whence do you come?"**

**"Konya, Alanya, Telmar." Ayla narrowed her eyes, fists rapidly whitening in rage. So he was slum scum, after all!**

**"And would you please tell the court exactly what happened? Do not leave anything out."**

**Glancing furtively at Artie, Ayla's mind was flying all over the place. She zoned out, unable to hear any more without experiencing the sensation of an imminent implosion -- or a mental breakdown. Another one, anyway.**

**" . . . and so, I was knocked out. That is all I remember."**

**"I see." Lillian's lips were pressed into a thin, white line, though her tone remained even. "I must ask you, what was your motivation?" The man's face suddenly lit up in sordid glee. "Well, if I must." He looked incredibly pleased with himself. Ayla couldn't stop shaking as he looked at her directly now. "A few years ago, Miss Nedim's father borrowed 3,000 gold Telmarine pieces in order to start a business. He signed after agreeing the the terms." Ayla put her head in her hands, not wanting to hear more, yet desperate for answers. "The terms included that, upon the first failure to make a payment, he would incur interest. On the second, he would lose a most valuable trinket. On the third," he grinned malevolently at Ayla, whose face was livid in its pallor, though she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "I kill him. After that, the responsibility falls upon the closest living relative to repay the debt." He paused, an oily smirk still molding his mouth. "If said relative fails and no other family exists, then said relative's holdings will be liquidated and, if they are insufficient, he or she, too, becomes my property."**

**Lillian looked torn between thoughtfulness and disgust. "Was this a legal contract?"**

**"Yes."**

**"So, Miss Nedim is technically your property?" The man's eyes flashed dangerously and Ayla's mind was filled with visions of the various ways one could gouge them out while provoking only the highest ranges of pain.**

**"Yes."**

**"Miss Nedim, were you aware of this?" She wanted to say no. She had to say no!**

**"Yes." Lillian's shoulders drooped a little. "But I was disowned!" She knew speaking out of turn was highly frowned upon in court, but she had to say something! "Doesn't that nullify my part in the contract?" The Queen didn't seem too bothered by this, though Ayla could almost hear some older judges harrumphing about the youth of today. **

**"Yavuz of Telmar, is it true that if Miss Nedim is no longer legally related to the debtor, that she is free?" He gave a calmly deranged smile,**

**"No, actually. The exact terms were defined rather loosely, as I suspected some foul play would occur in the future." Ayla didn't know how much more of this she could take. Her hands ached from clutching the bench. **

**"Are there any more witnesses?" Ayla was searching her mind for anything that might be able to sever the legal ties between her and that man. "No further witnesses?" Ayla's hands twitched as she gripped the seat harder. There just had to be a way! And why hadn't Puss gone -- PUSS! "Then, I hereby declare this court adj -- "**

**"NO!" Ayla shouted. The awkward creaking of seat benches and the rustling of clothes and paper seemed amplified in her mind as her face began to color. "If I may . . . " Lillian nodded. "Then I would like to call on the gingercat called Puss."**

Fifteen minutes and one gulp of Truth serum later, Puss explained what he had seen. When asked why he hadn't come forward earlier, he simply answered that he hadn't been aware of this new right granted to magical creatures. But this brought new hope to Ayla in the form of the Law of Vital Transaction, though she had no idea how quickly the situation would escalate -- and to what horrifying degree.

**The Queen read aloud, "If one person's life is saved by another, the former then owes the latter a life debt, which thereby grants the second person the right to anything he or she wishes of the first, so long as it is not to inflict mental or physical anguish. In order for aforementioned life debt to be valid, there must be two witnesses present at the time of the Vital Transaction." She paused before continuing carefully, "Furthermore, should the former ever threaten the life of the latter, he or she then incurs interest, which must be paid for by the life of the former."**

**"Were you aware of this, sir?" The man bristled, his lips shaking as he tried to keep them shut. "Answer the question, Yavuz of Telmar. Were you or were you not aware of the Law of Vital Transaction?"**

**At length, he gritted out, "Yes." The gavel banged loudly as a short recess was declared. **

In almost no time at all, the judges came filing back in form the antechamber. Ayla had held her breath, unable to look at anyone or anything but the skirt of her dress and the backs of her hands. Though wasn't sure why, she expressly pretended not to notice Artie's worried gaze.**  
**

**"The High Court has decided to authorize the execution the accused at a time and place of Miss Nedim's choosing. The method may also be chosen by Miss Nedim, though if left unspecified, beheading by sword is the default punishment. Well, Miss Nedim?"**

**Her rage spoke before she could, "Immediately. Right in front of the gates. Anything sharp."**

**"Court adjourned!" What had she just said? She knew part of her desired this more than anything else, but another part just couldn't begin to imagine how she'd ever be able to -- Ayla steeled herself. She was legally bound, now. She could do this! . . . So why were her legs shaking?**

**As the man passed by her, heavily flanked by guards, he spat at her in their native tongue, "You stupid little chit! You'll regret this! I will have my men kill you!" Ayla didn't respond. Her tongue wasn't working. She thought back to the day they arrived here, the day the men disappeared from the ship. _Either they were mercenary sailors or he poisoned them all for some form of 'insubordination.'_ Yuvaz was infamous for slaughtering partners and, she suspected he was probably afraid; they knew too much and they were too many. _If you hadn't killed them all, I'd be scared!_ But in truth, she really _was _frightened. And now here she was with an opportunity to dole out justice as it should have been many years ago! Yet she hesitated! She could sense Artie's green eyes on her again, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. What had she _done_?**

**Too soon, everything was in place, and Yavuz stood before her, a twisted sneer on his face, a feral gleam in his eyes. A nearby guard bowed and handed her a sword. It was much heavier than she had anticipated, but she could lift it well enough. She looked at the space above his head, trying to ignore the ring of judges around them, who were basically out of earshot. Only Lillian and several guards stood close enough to here her murmuring unintelligibly to herself. **

**"Scared, are we?" He mocked her, the harsh tones of Telmar ripping through the air and into her brain, which wouldn't stop flitting from picture to voice to place to person to picture again and GOD! This was unbearable! Silence. When had she stopped -- ? "Can't even respond, you're so frightened!" Ayla lifted the blade to test out the weight again. Perhaps the heaviness of it would make it easier to impale him? Memories flying wildly now, her blood rapidly came to a steady boil.**

In her mind, she saw him back in Alanya. Then they were on the ship and though hadn't slept or eaten well in three weeks, she was still peeling potatoes and slicing cabbages, despite the turbulence, because it was the only way she could avoid getting tossed overboard.**"Frozen to the spot like a little lamb." **She was now pinned to the ground and --**"You can't kill me."**

**"Miss Nedim," Lillian looked as though she had had quite enough. "Would you prefer it if -- "But Ayla couldn't hear her. **She was seeing Dara, bustling about for men's clothing the day she left; Hakan, the last she saw him, on his way out --

**"Weakling!" He snarled, "Just like your father! Just like Hakan!" Her knuckles turned a deadly white. **She found the body in the living room as villagers burst through the door, wailing, screaming accusations.

**"You set it up." Her voice shook audibly.**

_OK, TRIGGERS AHEAD!_

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** "You set me up . . ." **The horrible ripping of the borrowed shirt as she straddled her.

**"Though I was not lying when I said that the contract was legal, I only meant in some countries. You would have no luck against me in the Alanian court! Returning home would be a one-way ticket to Giresun!" **Her screams of terror and protest as she bit and scratched and kicked against him.

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_OK, TRIGGERS ARE GONE!_

**His lip curled up in a horrible taunting look, "Though I can't imagine who would be left there to greet you." The memories came to a screeching halt; for the second time that day, she saw red. Noticing this, he looked at her directly in the eyes and whispered, "Do it for Dara! Avenge her!" He was mocking her. Vaguely, she wondered if he had been born this way.**

**He gave her a strange look, watching her face shift as she felt her rage combine with something more complicated, something inexplicable. She quickly produced a small silver dagger from inside one sleeve and advanced slowly. For the first time, it seemed, she saw a flicker of fear pass through his eyes. Her own, piercing in their darkness and sudden frankness, left him with an uneasy roiling in his stomach that he hadn't felt in many a year. She stopped walking, holding the dagger out, its point fixed over his left shoulder. ****Her voice slithered out, deadly soft, as she forced her eyes to train on his.****"I see no life in you." He seemed to be steeling himself, either for words or weapons, she didn't know, but something in this action . . . Thoughts and pictures and words and at least a thousand voices screaming different arguments raced around in her head at dizzying speed. Could she really do this? Could she -- ?! looked down at the blood spreading on his shirt, his hands around her own, gripping the dagger, jerkily forcing it deeper into his heart.**

**Raggedly, he wrenched it out and stabbed himself again, this time under the rib cage, aiming up towards his lungs. She would never forget the feel of this. Ayla ventured a glance at his face and nearly vomited, but as memories came blasting back through her consciousness, her rage got the better of her and she violently tugged her hand away, dagger and all. She slowly walked over and wordlessly pressed the dagger into the waiting hands of the closest guard.**

**"I, Queen Lillian of Far Far Away, High Justice, do declare this Bond fulfilled. Council and guards, you are dismissed."**

**She began to make her way back towards the castle, knowing that while she had just condemned a man to a slow and painful death, there would be no coup de grâce. She looked down. Her hands her bloody. **

Three stories up and four windows to the side, a goldenhaired teenager stared at his ceiling in utter disbelief.

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Author's Note: So firstly, Telmar is property of C.S. Lewis, though Konya and Alanya are real places and The Glade is my invention. Secondly, I'm really sorry if this whole ordeal in chapter 14 and in this chapter seemed rushed. I just couldn't decide what to do with that ridiculous man! But don't worry! I have good plans for the next chapters! And I'll try to bring the humor back in. Again, if you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please let me know! Just keep it tactful. And thanks for reading!

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(Now, please, if you have time, review!)

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	14. Why Do You Build Me Up, Buttercup?

**Author's Note: Ok, so I've posted this at least three times, but I'll say it again: I'm really sorry for the initial quality of Chapters 14-15. It was a product of insomnia, but today, I fixed most of what was wrong. SO if you haven't already, please go back to the end of chapter 13 and read the new stuff. And the very beginning of Chapter 14, as well. Otherwise, the rest of the story might not make as much sense as it should.  
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It was 10 o'clock in the morning and Ayla was alone.

It had been five days since the hearing, and after the terrible ordeal of the Vital Transaction, she had been placed in the room closest to the ground-level healer apartments. At first, when Artie hadn't come by to see her, a strange, plummeting sensation twisted her stomach, but logic told her that he was probably confused by the room change and would find her soon. He didn't. The next day, she told herself that he was most likely tied up by some state business, but that he would probably send someone over to tell her not to expect him. Three days later, she began to understand.

"He's not coming, toots." Her head snapped up to the now open door. It was Sylvia. _Jeez! Do all the healers do that? _Vaguely, she thought about how Artie used to startle her in a similar way. "Mind if I come in, Miss Nedim?" The girl looked to her fidgeting hands uncomfortably,

"You needn't address me so, ma'am." The burly woman snorted,

"I know you know my name, toots." She paused, allowing herself a small smile. "You're allowed to use it, you know."

"It's not that I'm trying to be rude or anything, but, um, why exactly are you here? I mean, you already came in earlier to give me the elixir, but . . . " Ayla trailed off, unable to continue as the bizarre roiling in her gut grew.

"Fritz sent me in here to let you know that you're now free to go." At the crestfallen look on Ayla's face, Sylvia said quietly, "Toots, I'm really sorry, but you'll have to be gone by tomorrow at dawn."

* * *

Artie was lying on his bed -- fully dressed and on top of the covers -- when Shrek found him. "Artie?" The boy didn't respond until a moment later, 

"Hi." The ogre's face softened in sympathy, but when he opened his mouth to speak, he realized that he was at an utter loss for words. _I mean, what can you say to a kid who's just seen his only friend (er, could he call her that?) kill someone?_ Shrek's thoughts drifted to the day he came back to Far Far Away up until the present moment. What a strange two weeks it had been! He chuckled as he thought of Fiona's reaction when she had first seen Artie hobbling back into the castle with Ayla, who had swayed so violently with each movement, it wasn't really surprising how quickly the princess had jumped to conclusions. Artie's green eyes squinted. "What's so funny?"

The ogre shrugged, "Oh, just thinking about this little miscreant king I know." Artie felt the corners of his mouth quirk up a little.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Stirred up quite a bit of gossip when he visited this girl everyday for two weeks." Artie's face reddened, though his eyes sank a little, an action that Shrek didn't miss.

"She's a good kid, Artie." The boy's gaze snapped up to the ogre's concerned face. A good kid?

"Shrek. She just killed someone."_Can't argue with that. _Mulling over at least a hundred different word choices, he scrapped the lot of them and decided to just say it.

_"_Artie, you can't keep moping around because you're friend's just, well, executed somebody!" Propping himself against the headboard, Artie snapped heatedly,

"You don't understand!" Shrek rolled his eyes. _Teenagers. _

_"_Really? 'Cause it looks pretty clear to me, kid."

"Well, it's not."

"Then explain it to me!" Artie closed his eyes, a pained look crossing his features. Silence flowed through the room like a chilling mist.

_"_That day I went out into town, I overheard a conversation at The Round Table." He paused, unable to meet Shrek's eyes. "About life debts." Suddenly the words were spilling pell mell from his mouth. "I knew where Puss had been going. He's been seeing a stray." Shrek's eyebrows rose to what would have been his hairline.

"What? Artie, you're not making any sense. Besides, I thought the little bugger'd run out 'cause of a bad round o' gambling!" Artie shook his head,

For a moment, Artie couldn't help but wonder if he was perhaps a bit touched in the head. About ten minutes ago, he never again wanted to even hear the word "justice,"and now he was just exploding to tell someone -- anyone, almost! He took a cleansing breath, feeling rotten and tingly and distinctly unbalanced. "Shrek, I was the one who found Puss before the trial. I didn't really explain anything to him. I just sort of grabbed him and threw him onto a bench. I -- " Images of Ayla's bloodied hands, the look of utter dismay written across her features that was so deeply felt, Artie had been able to see it from his bedroom window. "I didn't know about the clause. I swear, I didn't know she'd have to -- to do _that_!"

Gradually, the ogre's ears drooped. "Artie," the boy refused to look at him. "it's not your fault."

"Shrek!" Artie suddenly sprang up, yelling, "Did you see her face right after it happened??" He shook his head slowly,

"No, because I wasn't authorized to be there." He gave a slight cock of the head. "And neither were you -- how did _you_ see anything? Scratch that, actually. WHY would you EVER want to SEE a thing like that??"

"I didn't mean to." Shrek eyed dubiously. "OK, I meant to. But the Gates are right outside my window! It would've been impossible to _not _see!"

Shrek shook his head slowly, "So, whatever happened to Guinevere?" Artie blushed to the roots of his hair. Shrek snorted, "I see." After a few moments, he sobered. "But, seriously, Artie, I know you're concerned about all this, but you've been locked up here for five days. I don't think that's helping."

Artie worried his lower lip. He knew justice had been served, but why did it feel so utterly corrupt?

"Artie, look. There's no easy way to say this, but people die, and judging from his character, someone else was bound to kill him if she hadn't."

"I know." _But why **her**? _"I still think I should have overruled it."

"So as an alternative to execution, you'd pick slavery?" At the boy's hurt expression, Shrek's tone softened, "Artie, it's a bad business either way. What you saw . . . well, you shouldn't have, really, and I know it seems cruel, but it really was the lesser of the two evils. If you had overruled it, the result would have been much worse." He paused to place a hand on the boys shoulder. "There was nothing you could do."

Artie looked up, folding his arms across his chest, exhaling softly, "Fucking messed up."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Shrek deadpanned before smiling sadly, "though I wholeheartedly agree."

* * *

Ayla didn't understand. Shouldn't she be happy? She was finally healed of all wounds and physical woes! She could now go where she pleased! Well, provided she had the money for it, and she was pretty sure 17 in Telmarine silver wasn't going to get her anywhere except across town. 

Suddenly, she felt the need to recount her money. Logically speaking, no one would have stolen anything, because who would want to steal from a poor foreign girl? Nonetheless, two seconds later, Ayla found herself digging through her weatherbeaten satchel for the little black change-purse. Ugh, where _was _it?? Hoisting the sack high up in the air, she dumped out its contents onto the bed. Instantly, her breath turned to cold sand in her lungs.

1 heavily-darned scarf, 1 short slip that she had crafted from the other remaining scarf, 1 change-purse, 1 raggedy shirt, and 1 pair of worn breeches.

Was this really all she had left in the world? She plunged a hand inside. Nothing. Holding it up by it's bottom, she shook it frantically until a small papery object fell out. Gingerly, she picked it up and, holding it between her thumb and forefinger, she murmured quietly to herself, "Fairest of Them All: Spa and Clinic. Grasse, France."

It was a long shot, but she had no foreign contacts and, despite the tugging in her heart, there was no way she was staying here. Besides, she could pickpocket until she had enough for safe passage. _Unlike last time. _She hated the idea of stealing, but it was either that or whoring herself out, which she flat out refused to do. That, or gambling, but it was too risky! Perhaps she could -- hang on . . . who do I know that's good at gambling . . . A fuzzy orange face rapidly formed in her mind; her heart leapt.

* * *

"So," Puss arched what probably would have been called an eyebrow, "you want me to win you 50 in Far Away gold? From 17 Telmar silver? By tomorrow at dawn?" She knew it sounded utterly stupid, but the prospect of stealing made her insides shudder with disgust. Prostitution was out of the question. 

"Oh," Ayla said quietly, taking in choppy breaths, "Right. Good." She tossed the feline a painfully lopsided smile, "You know what? Don't worry about it. Forget it. It was a stupid idea." She gathered her bag up and made to leave the room when Puss suddenly called out,

"Hold on, señorita!" She stopped in her tracks, whipping her face around in an emotion Puss couldn't decipher; his curiosity was piqued. "Why do you need this money so badly?" Slowly, she reached into her bag and produced a tiny rectangle of paper. Sliding it across the table, she waited for his response. Seconds seemed like hours as his sharp eyes scanned the card. This _had_ to work. It just _had_ to! Her insides trembled and her breath sounded like a wailing storm in her ears; her palms were getting sweatier and sweatier and then he looked up, his expression unreadable. She felt her gut clench.

"I will see what I can do."

"I - " She breathed, "Thank you."

* * *

"Mom, I was going to wait for Shrek and Artie, but please believe me when I say that they support this, too!" Lillian's eyes shined with something unfamiliar. 

"So you are sending me away, then?" Fiona's vision blurred a little as she fought to keep her voice steady,

"No. I care about you -- "

"Then why," Lillian suddenly shouted, "are you doing this?!" The younger woman's chin quivered. She couldn't speak. Lillian's crystalline eyes softened, anger ebbing away, leaving hurt and care to fill the space. "I'm sorry, Fiona." The older woman inhaled shakily, looking out to the gray and green horizon. "Perhaps you're right, dear." Fiona gave a great shudder, a tiny tear gliding down her cheek. What was she supposed to say now? Lillian smiled wryly, "I thought _I _was the one who was supposed to be crying." At this, Fiona gave a strangled laugh, but it quickly turned into a sob.

"I'm sorry, mom. I just -- when I came back -- I couldn't just -- " Face heavy with guilt, Lillian wrapped her arms around her daughter and softly spoke,

"Shhh.You needn't to apologize, dear. You -- " She faltered before continuing, her voice thick with something Fiona had never before heard from her mother. "Don't worry, Fiona, it'll all be OK."

* * *

Ayla looked up at the charcoal gray sky, heavy with unshed water. Judging from the positions of some silver-gray swirls, it was probably right around sunset, though it was hard to tell. Rubbing her fingers together, she grimaced at the amount of moisture she felt. Her hair was thick with it. Her skin was slick with it. Looking around, she passed a hand over the sweaty space above her lips as she chewed her lower one. It was a habit, she noted absently, that she had picked up from her time with Artie. Ignoring the sudden pang in her chest, she looked around again. The coast was clear. 

Not willing to wait a moment longer, she peeled off the oppressive robe she had been given by healing staff and tossed it carelessly to the ground, leaving her in a rather ragged, thin blue dress that came to rest around her thighs. She was free. This probably should have felt more embarrassing or indecent than it did, but often, when she was alone in the summertime, she would sport similar garments. Of course temperature-wise, weather was more forgiving here than in her homeland, but this humidity was almost too much to bear. A thin blue strap fell down her shoulder. Rather more roughly than she meant to, she jammed it back up. Ugh! Was it _ever_ going to rain?

* * *

Artie watched her from under the darkened doorway. What was she doing? Blushing furiously, he was suddenly very grateful for the length of his tunic. _Stupid hormones! _With an aggression that surprised him, he forced those thoughts away and rearranged his thoughts. Over and over again, he repeated the words he'd arranged hours ago. About a minute passed, before he inhaled deeply in an effort to steel himself. _Just do it, Artie._ And with that, he began to walk towards the blue-clad figure, hands flexing and moist and cool.

* * *

The hairs on the back of Ayla's neck pricked up, her skin turning bumpy with flaming cold. What was going on? Was it about to rain? Logic told her that she was alone, but the soft rustling of grass told her otherwise. 

"Ayla." A voice called softly from a few paces behind her. She whipped around, eyes wide, chest heaving as her heart rammed wildly against her ribcage. Suddenly, it felt as though the breath had been sucked out of her body. "I -- " Artie faltered.

"You," she exhaled, unmoving, her hair falling in wild waves, lips oddly dry. Her bare feet shifted in the grass. Seeing this, Artie spoke quickly, his green eyes strangely bright in the grayness of the atmosphere,

"I'm sorry." Ayla, suddenly regaining control over her body, gave him a wobbly smile,

"What for?" She inhaled shakily, not quite knowing what she felt. Brushing her hands along the golden skin of her arms, she found that she was unable to look at him. Artie opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Mentally, he darted around, trying to remember the speech he had so painstakingly crafted earlier in the day, but it was no use. The words were gone. Not knowing what else to do, he took a step closer to her, stopping when he saw the apprehension in her eyes, gleaming black with a mix of feelings that left him suffocated.

"Ayla. It's -- " Suddenly, he felt a splash on his nose. Looking up, he cried out in surprise as another drop landed on his forehead. " -- raining??"

"Why, yes. It is." Artie's eyes moved back to the girl before him, a tilted grin on her face. Water droplets were beginning to fall more steadily now. Not really knowing what else to say, he suggested, his voice clearly falsely casual,

"We should go inside." Ayla spoke plainly with that disarming frankness in her gaze.

"Do you really want to go inside or did you just want to ease the lull in the conversation?" His cheeks flamed.

"No, I -- I mean, yes!" He paused, his face contorting slightly in discomfort as he tried to focus his vision on her face. His shoulders slumped a little, "No, but it's better indoors."

She tilted her head to one side, the corners of her mouth quirking up ever so slightly. "What makes you so sure?"

Artie floundered for an answer, but before he could think it through, he heard himself speak. "It's either get sick or stay dry."

"You would choose incarceration over freedom?" Ayla put a hand up as he went to speak, "Don't argue. The palace may be beautiful and historic, but you've seen the healing quarters." She continued, a bitter edge to her otherwise quiet tone. "They may have switched my room, but the new walls are just as bare, the size is still small, the bed creaks at the slightest movement, and" Her gaze softened as she turned to look him in the eyes, grinning despite herself as she remembered a previous conversation. "the medicine tastes like the foulest junk I've ever had the misfortune to even smell."

Though his green eyes spoke of a sadness Ayla didn't quite understand, she saw his mouth twitch up into a wry grin, "Should've put some chocolate syrup in there."

The rain was falling harder now, but he couldn't find it within himself to go inside. Hours seemed to pass as they stared at one another, each one waiting for the other to break whatever this was, but as the moments passed, more and more words built up in Artie's mind. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for making her kill that man. He wanted to tell her what utter shit this past week had been. He wanted to tell her how terrible he felt for being so blinded by his own guilt that he had not visited her when she probably needed the most support. Then he realized, he still hadn't answered her question from earlier. The choice was obvious, though its implications were far more complicated than the question. As if reading his train of thought, Ayla asked him steadily,

"So would you?" Though the sun had set a few moments ago, he could detect something quietly fearful in her gaze that made him feel rotten and stronger and weaker for having done what he did.

"No." The boy spoke clearly. Tentatively, Artie walked closer to her until he could see the dilated pupils of her eyes, which, from here, appeared to be more of a deep, warm brown. Artie's breathing became slightly erratic as he realized what he had just done.

Ayla stared at him, unmoving, not really caring that her dress now soaked through. She was leaving in the morning, after all. With a pang, she realized that she would probably never see Artie again. Without another thought, she threw her arms around the young king, hardly caring what it would look like to anyone.

Momentarily stunned, the boy initially stood there, eyes wide and arms rigid, but slowly, he returned the hug. Soon, he was holding her fiercely, pouring into it everything he'd left unsaid. They hardly noticed when the rain stopped and when the moon began to glow.

When they finally parted, Ayla stepped back and gave him a watery grin. "Apology accepted." He blinked.

"What?" Pointedly ignoring his question, she stayed where she was, though her gaze seemed closer somehow.

"I'll write to you." Artie did a double take. His face must have shown his confusion, as she answered,

"Did you really think I could stay in the palace forever?" At his hurt look, she explained steadily, "This is not my home, Artie." He nodded slowly, emerald eyes dulling.

"Where are you going?" Ayla took a deep breath. If she told him, there was a chance he'd follow, though she didn't think he wasn't _that_ reckless. Then again, if she _didn't _tell him, he'd take offense. Her insides squirmed; she knew that a small and selfish part of her wanted him to neglect his duty to his kingdom and find her. With her mind so thoroughly occupied, she barely had control over her mouth and suddenly, she heard herself whisper,

"France."

"Where in France?" She hesitated, her mindless momentum suddenly stopped. The girl studied him as rivulets of water ran down his face; his hair, now a light brown in its utter dampness, fell into his bright green eyes. Briefly, she tried counting the freckles nose and cheeks. She wanted to remember this boy, who had been her closest companion since the start of this great and terrible adventure. Suddenly, she pulled him into another hug.

"I'll write you as often as I can." Somewhere in her mind, she knew that her letters would never get through to the king of Far Far Away. The royal servants would probably toss it away, mistaking it for some peasant's farming proposal.

"You still didn't tell me where you were going." She drew back, suddenly realizing how scandalous this must have looked. Of course, it hadn't mattered to her earlier, but she hadn't thought about what it might have meant for Artie if someone had happened upon them.

Every fiber of her being wanted to stay here with this boy, who had so quickly wormed his way into her heart, but she knew that the longer she stayed, the harder it would be to leave. She had no place in the palace. With this thought whizzing about in her head, she grabbed one of his hands and covered it with her own, nearly crushing it with the intensity of her grasp. Staring sadly into his anxious face, she gave him a lopsided grin. "You're terrible, Artie Pendragon." And without warning, she let go and walked calmly over to collect her discarded robe before making her way back inside.

Artie watched, rooted to the spot, when a thought jolted him into action. He might never see her again. He wasn't entirely sure why this mattered, but as he thought back on his life since Worcestorshire; she had been his only companion in this time, and Shrek was soon to go home.

Dashing across the wet grass, slipping and falling once, he finally was able to grab one of her wrists just as she reached the stone archway. Immediately, she halted. She didn't turn around, but he could hear a painful thickness in her voice. "Please let go."

"Where are you going?" Ayla's shoulders shook a little as she took a shuddering breath.

Artie felt a strange anger flare up as he barked,

"So you're just going to leave without telling me? Just like that?" She began to tremble as she weakly tugged at her wrist, keeping her head down so that her hair came down like a short curtain before her face.

"Please let go." Feeling a strange prickling in his eyes and nose, he held on even more tightly. "I'll come back."

A tiny bubble of hope swelled in his chest. "Do you promise?" She nodded weakly, not willing to make eye contact with him for fear of obliterating her resolve. Moments passed. Quietly looking ahead to the inner corridor, she breathed,

"Just let go, Artie." He felt numb as his fingers loosened.


	15. Rustic Chic Meets Minimalist Hallways

**IMPORTANT NOTE:**** ALLZSTAR BROUGHT SOMETHING TO MY ATTENTION. I accidentally used her invention of Very Very Near in chapters 2 and 3. ****It was just that I had been looking for a witty name for a place and instantly, Very Very Near came to mind. I wasn't sure why, but I used it and thought nothing of it. Then this afternoon I received her message and realized that the name came to mind because I had read her story a while back, and I felt terrible, so ****I've changed it to Visigothia, but I apologize to AllzStar and also to you, the readers.**

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Lillian sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes unseeing. Fiona's brow furrowed gently; there was a heaviness to the outer corners of her eyes, though her voice betrayed none of this. "Ready, mom?"

The older woman exhaled slowly through her nose, a stiff smile bending her thin lips, "As I'll ever be."

Not quite knowing what to say, the redhead gave her a wobbly grin. Motioning to Lillian, she headed for the door and, wordlessly, the Queen followed.

Soon they were outside, and minutes later, Artie, Shrek, and Fiona were waving their goodbyes at a group of receding shapes on horseback. Not a word was said as the Queen and her guards disappeared into the liquid gold of the horizon.

"So," the ogre broke the awkward silence, his voice a little strange, "you arranged for the scenic route?" His wife nodded mutely. "Good. Great."

Edging away from the duo, Artie silently stole back to the palace. Though each one noticed, neither said a word.

"Come on." Fiona sighed quietly, "Let's go back inside." Shrek grunted in agreement.

* * *

"Señorita, I have returned." Ayla chewed her lip nervously, almost too afraid to ask. "And unfortunately, I did not win you your 50 gold pieces." Time froze for the girl. Upon seeing her panicked expression, he elaborated, "I got something better!" 

Before she could inquire as to what exactly he was talking about, Puss scampered out towards the doorway, motioning for her to follow. Soon, they were in the courtyard, obscured by flowering trees and fragrant summer plants and in the very center stood an old, rather nervous-looking man in a white beard and outdated spectacles. "So this man is going to help us?" She eyed him skeptically. Puss nodded, explaining through the side of his mouth,

"He's a magician. He can transport you directly to where you want to go." She looked him up and down.

"How did you find this person?" The gingercat shrugged, a subtle grin tugging at his furry mouth.

"I have my ways." Ayla grimaced, pulling her shirt tighter around her torso, absently picking at the tear in her breeches.

"This can't have been a cheap deal." The cat looked thoughtful for a moment before replying in a measured tone.

"Let's just say," Puss said slowly as he absently stroked his tail, "he owes me one."

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**One month later . . . **

" . . . and so, your Majesty, it would be most prudent if you wrote the green velvet with the _golden_ embroidery. After all, you must keep up with the fashion!" Artie made a valiant attempt at a pleasant smile of agreement, though, for all his effort, it probably just made him look constipated.

"Yeah. Thanks, Fiddlesworth." After one look at Artie's bizarre expression and the man got the hint, the man took his leave, spewing formalities in that reedy voice that Artie had grown to simultaneously detest and tolerate. He wasn't sure how he could feel two such different things together, but he didn't really care; he was too busy with more important things, like the fact that life had become utter crap.

In fact, the past four weeks had been the most utterly unbearable he had ever experienced at the castle. The loneliness was even worse after the departure of Shrek and Fiona, who left a week after Lillian. It was beginning to seem like the only familiar people he had were either perpetually occupied with something important (Fritz and Sylvia) or were just horribly annoying and, thus, he avoided them at all costs (Fiddlesworth and Robert).

* * *

**One month and two weeks later . . .**

Lillian let out a whoosh of breath as she entered the building and mutely strode up to the front desk. Before she could even open her mouth, the receptionist's hazel eyes went wide as she practically jumped out of her chair to greet the woman. "Your Majesty, we were not expecting you so early! Come! We must bring you to your room right away!"

"Very well." She fell into step with the younger woman and took this opportunity to study this nervous girl. She was a little thing: skinny, short, and probably no older than twenty-two. The two progressed down the hall, white and chic in its minimalism, for another several meters until they reached a softly lit stairway that seemed to glow silver. The young receptionist motioned for the Queen to follow her as she explained,

"We have had this room saved for about some time now. The painters have been in and out all last month, and, yesterday, the designers have just put the, I think you call them, finishing touches." She gently held an iridescent white door as the Queen steadily walked through. "We hope that it is all to your liking." Slowly, she produced a silver skeleton key, crafted with fine filigree designs, three coin pearls gracefully laid in. Inclining her head, she offered the key to Lillian. "Have you need of anything, your Majesty?"

"No, no. I am quite alright." Bowing slightly again, the girl subtly brushed off her flowing white robes,

"I shall leave you now to notify Madame of your presence, your Majesty, but if you are needing anything in the future, you can always ask for me. Sylvie."

Lillian gave her a polite smile before inserting the key in the lock and pushing the door open. The sight before her simply took her breath away.

The walls were of a traditional stucco, complete with thick, dark wooden beams in the ceiling and huge green shutters that opened to reveal a large balcony that looked out at the vivid orange and blue of the southern French landscape. Gazing around, she noticed two other windows with identical green shutters and a large 4-post bed, covered in immaculate white sheets and the fluffiest pillows she had ever seen. A plush, forest green armchair rested in the corner with soft quilt thrown over its back, and all sorts of local flowers stood in vases atop a bookshelf, a desk, a night table, and a fashionably worn desk rested in the corner. Bundles of dried lavender lay in five sleek, slender glasses atop one shelf. Though the structure was purely for aesthetic purposes, Lillian had to admit, it was a wonderful compliment to the charmingly vintage dresser below.

A sudden knock at the door jolted her heart into a wild hammering beat. "Co -- come in!" She called out, willing her pulse to slow down. In the doorway stood a beautiful, dark-haired woman whose smooth face and red lips made it hard to tell how old she was. "Good afternoon, my Queen. I am Gladys, the Madame." She paused as Lillian gave her a polite hello. "How do you find your accommodations? If there is anything I can do, please let me know." Lillian sighed,

"Oh, no, it's perfect! Especially after a month and half of sleeping in tents." Gladys inhaled sharply through her teeth, wincing as she imagined the utter "barbarism" of camping out.

"Oh, dear. Well, in that case, would you like to enter the spa directly, your Majesty?" Upon seeing a fleeting hesitation pass her face, Gladys continued a little hurriedly, "or perhaps your Majesty would prefer to settle in and have a meal brought up to her Majesty's quarters?" Lillian felt a strange twinging in her stomach.

"Please. My name is Lillian." Her title had been one of the things that had made life so difficult in Far Far Away. Every time someone wanted to talk to her, it was as the Queen, which only made her think of the man who should have been there to be their king. Each address was like a sharp jabbing at every memory of Harold. She sighed heavily once more. "I think I might like to rest a bit, actually."

"Very well." She paused. "Lillian." The older woman nodded absently. "Oh, and I understand that Sylvie has told your men to start unloading your things. She's new around here and, well, unfortunately, they cannot enter the clinic, due to regulations concerning some of the other patients. However, I've notified our own men to pick them up from the entrance. "

"Men? I thought this was a women's healing clinic?"

"It is, but we keep one or two of them on hand for some particularly complicated methods of rehabilitation." Gladys winked at her, a smirk tugging at her crimson lips. "Though I have to say, it does spice things up a bit sometimes."

For what felt like the first time in ages, Lillian let loose a loud laugh. Holding a hand to her stomach, she smiled widely. "You know, on second thought, I think I'd rather head to the spa first." Gladys grinned back,

"Of course." She paused again. "Lillian."


	16. The Ayla Zhang Nedim Experience

**Way before Lillian even got to the French border . . .**

Ayla crumpled to the ground as soon as the blinding blue light left her body. Was she . . . ? Gingerly, she lifted her head. The sky was airy in its darkness, pierced everywhere by little diamonds as the moon glowed quietly, illuminating the peaceful, rocky landscape. Suddenly, she heard a dangerously soft voice,

"Qui est là?" (Who is there?) Vocally paralyzed, Ayla turned and saw the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on. Silvery blond hair cascaded smoothly down past her narrow shoulders, eyes wide and cold and of such a light and gorgeous color, Ayla wondered if they weren't copies of the moon. Glowing and pale, her face possessed a noble beauty in its angular simplicity. And even with her body hidden under fabric, its willowy, subtly curved shape was easily visible. The woman's flowing white raiment rippled liquidly in the light breeze.

Ayla had heard of the Moon goddess visiting the faithful, but she had never believed in these stories. Besides, judging from the suspicion in the woman's tone, she highly doubted it was some divine being, despite the fact that all other evidence seemed to point to the contrary. Without warning, something hard knocked flat on her back and she could feel the cold sole of a boot pressing mercilessly into her chest. Voice returning to her, she gathered what she could of her rusty French and cried out,

"J'avais pas l'intention de vous donner peur! Je suis perdue!" (I didn't mean to frighten you! I'm lost!)

"Comment vous-vous appeler?" (What is your name?) Ayla's mind raced. She couldn't give her real name, but she had to make sure this new name fit whatever story she was about to make up.

"Je -- Je -- " (I -- I -- ) Whether it was due to the pressure of the boot or just the fright of being caught in such a state, the words just wouldn't come out.

"Vous venez d'où, donc?" (Where are you from, then?)

"Je viens . . . je viens de . . . ugh, est-ce que c'est vraiment important?" (I'm from . . . I'm from . . . ugh, does it really matter?) Ayla winced at her heavy Telmarine accent. She hadn't meant for it to come out.

"Mais bien sûr, c'est important." (Of course it matters.) She paused, a thoughtful and dangerous look on her face. "Alors, c'est quoi, ton nom?" (Say, what's your name?)

Why couldn't she move her tongue? Ayla had never understood the phrase 'paralyzed by fear' until tonight. She gasped against the pressure of the woman's foot on her chest, her gaze desperately searching out that of the fair-haired stranger. Slowly the pressure on her rib cage lessened. The woman gave her a long, calculating look before finally taking her boot away.

"Viens." The woman stepped back. "Je vous émène à la Madame." (Come. I'm taking you to the Madame.) There was no room for argument and, given the woman's speed and ability, she wasn't sure she wanted to see what would happen if she tried to run.

* * *

Gladys had been having a most delightful dream of chocolate cakes that contained negative calories, when a loud, brisk knock at the door jolted her harshly from this imagined paradise. 

When she finally got up to the door, she threw it open, her lips puckering and her eyes squinting in the sudden flow of light from the corridor. Her groggy gaze flicked quickly to the tattily-dressed stranger trembling beside the blond beauty. The older woman's eyes widened instantly.

"Madame, j'ai trouvé un intrus dans le jardin." (Madame, I found this trespasser in the garden.) Gladys regarded the dark-haired intruder with an unreadable look.

"Merci, Clémentine." (Thank you, Clémentine.) She paused, her eyes lingering on the boot-printed shirt. Nodding curtly, Clémentine began to walk away, when Gladys called out steadily, "S'il vous plait, ma belle, laisse-le. Je voudrais bien lui parler un peu." (Leave him. I'd very much like to talk to him, just a bit.) The younger woman's eyes flashed in momentary curiosity before she nodded again and took her leave.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Gladys advanced on Ayla and motioned for her to follow. Soon they arrived at a glossy white door, quite similar to the rest, but horrible images zoomed through the girl's mind: torture devices, poisons, weapons!

The door swung open silently, as if its hinges were only air. Gladys gestured for the girl to enter. Once Ayla was seated at a plain, white table, the woman spoke,

"Vous comprenez le français?" (Do you understand French?) Ayla bit her lower lip, fiercely shoving aside all thoughts of Artie as she suddenly released her lip.

"Oui, mais pas beaucoup." (Yes, but not a lot.) She winced again at her heavy accent. Gladys furrowed her brow, stroking her chin in a slow and steady manner that made Ayla wonder what she'd look like with a beard and, in spite of the seriousness of all this, a chuckle very nearly escaped her throat.

"Do you understand English better, then?" The girl nodded mutely.

"Good. Now . . . " Ayla's insides suddenly clenched painfully, her gut churning and twisting into knots that would confuse any seasoned sailor. "How would you like a spot of tea." Whatever she'd been expecting to hear, it definitely wasn't this.

"Um, sure. I mean, yes, please."

"I have just the thing. It's an herbal mix of the region." Gladys paused abruptly, a pensive expression relaxing her features. "I find it's often just the thing for frayed nerves." The Madame then went about procuring two cups from a small glass shelf on the opposite side of the room, over a sink.

"Frayed nerves?" Ayla echoed, her eyebrows coming close together. Gladys looked back at her, completely unperturbed.

"Why, yes."

"Oh." Five minutes and about two more awkward moments later, the two were seated opposite one another, sipping tea in a silence that gave Ayla the sensation of bursting. Was she going to think of a cover story in time? Could she make it believable? _Do I even need one?_

"So." The Madame finally spoke again. "What is your name? From whence do you come?" She couldn't do this. There was no way she was lying. She wasn't quite sure why, but the idea of lying in a situation that didn't really demand it . . .

"I am called Ayla Zhang Nedim of The Glade, just beyond the sea of Alanya." Gladys gave her a slow gaze.

"Why are you dressed in the manner of men? I nearly took you for a boy earlier." Ayla wasn't sure if she should feel proud or offended.

"Nearly?" The corners of Glady's lips drew up slowly, her eyes glittering with something youthful and mischievous that made Ayla want to ask her about the woman's adolescence.

"Don't think I don't know a thing or two about disguise. But you haven't answered the question."

"They're the only clothes I have, madam." Gladys gasped, horrified at the idea of having only one change of clothing -- and such an unfashionably tattered one at that!

"Oh, dear. What happened to your other clothes on the way?" She paused to sip her tea. "In fact, how did you come to be here?" Ayla, not quite knowing what to say, brought the sweet and heady tea to her lips again. Moments later, there was no more in her cup.

"That's a long story, indeed, madam." Perhaps it was the fatigue of magickal travel that made her speak, or the fact that she hadn't slept well in days; it was impossible to tell, but, oddly enough, she found that she didn't really care. "I . . . I don't know where to start."

"The beginning is generally a good place." Setting the cup down with hands sweating and chilly, she took a deep, shuddering breath. Was she really going to do this?

"Well . . . "

* * *

Somewhere in Ayla's mind, she was screaming at herself, but it was so distant, it was more of a muffled squawking. Besides, who cared what that stupid little voice was saying? This was the best she'd felt in months. For the first time since she couldn't even _remember_ when, she was able to just sit at a table and drink a marvelous cup of tea. 

Suddenly, a thought struck her, jolted her drooping eyelids back up. "Madam, what kind of tea is this?"

"Oh, just a local herbal blend." Ayla found that her limbs barely were practically weighted to the chair and table.

"You . . . " Gladys' face softened in compassion as she moved to kneel beside the drowsing girl, searching out her gaze.

"I had to know if you were being truthful. For security reasons." The girl's eyes began to close as she breathed out slowly. "If it makes you feel any better, this tea will only make the drinker feel more inclined to answer honestly. . If there is no desire to speak the truth, it can't _force_ it out of you. Resistance renders the tea ineffective."

"What," whispered Ayla, "would you have done if the tea hadn't worked?" Her head was on the table now.

"Truth serum."

But Ayla never heard the answer; she was dead asleep. Gladys smiled softly as she rose from the floor.

* * *

Ayla opened her eyes and, little by little, her surroundings became clearer. She was in a wonderful, plush bed with a soft quilt tucked around her body. Suddenly memories of the day before slammed into her waking mind, whizzing about in reckless desperation. Trying to sit up, she found that it took a little more effort than it should have. 

"Ah, I see you're awake." Vision snapping to the left, her eyes widened. It was the first woman from last night. Ayla furrowed her brow, trying to remember the woman's name, but it was no use. "The Madam has told me of your predicament. I will be your healer for the duration of your stay."

"The duration of my stay? Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but I can't pay for this! I need -- " Her mind raced, she felt as though her body was plummeting from off a tower. There was no way -- she couldn't breathe.

"Relax! You will only exhaust yourself! The VeriTea still runs in your blood and I daresay you drank more than your fair share!"

The scraping of a chair and the clinking of bottles were all she could hear for a moment as her vision swam until a great calm washed over her in cashmere tidal waves. It was seemingly out of nowhere, but as her sight returned, her eyes widened somewhat, still under the influence of this sudden serenity. The woman whose name she couldn't recall was crouched beside the bed, holding a small, deep blue vial beneath Ayla's nose.

"Good. Now, please remain calm. The after effects should wear off in the next thirty minutes or so." Ayla's half-lidded eyes stirred something in the woman, but, forcing it to dull, she continued primly, "The Madame has made an exception in your case and she is allowing you to stay for an indeterminate amount of time."

"You mean I can stay here . . . forever? If I want to?" Not quite answering her question, the woman continued,

"You are lucky. The Madame is known for her skills, not her generosity." The woman knew she should say something about the catch, but it might impede the healing process. Looking the girl over again, she felt the same flutter again, this time followed by a quick pang; once this girl was healed, she was to leave. Refocusing her attention once more, the woman spoke clearly, rising to her full height, "I will be making your elixirs for the duration of your stay. Marie will be your personal healer." The woman moved to a nearby chair, drawing it closer to the bed before sitting in it. "So how are you feeling?"

"I feel fine, actually. Apart from this strange heaviness in my limbs and head right now, but I suspect it's a side effect of the tea from last night."

"What about emotionally?" Ayla gave her a bewildered look, dark eyes wide. Clémentine sighed, a strange expression on her face. "I mean not to pry, but it is essential to the healing process."

"But I don't need to be healed! I'm not sick!" Ayla was trying her best not to tire herself out, but this was just too much. She felt her body turn hard and leaden, but racing, gnarling feeling would not leave her. Clémentine regarded her impassively as she spoke,

"Not physically." Forcing herself to look the woman in her steely gray eyes, Ayla scoffed,

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You have clearly experienced some trauma. Do not look so surprised, mademoiselle. It was essential that I was briefed about your situation. You have experienced much, but judging from the Madam's report, it seemed as though you have had no time to process all of this. Therefore, it is of utmost importance that you tell me how you are feeling."

"_Trauma_? What _trauma_?" Clémentine pursed her pale pink lips.

"It is not my wish to say things you already know." Ayla gave a cry of outrage, her anger fueling her combined states of consciousness and the imminent descent into its opposite,

"I don't believe this! In my homeland, we talk to our families! That is all we need, not some doctor to give us a case of elixirs to 'make us feel better!'" A pin could have dropped on the floor and sounded like the loud shattering of a crystal vase. Suddenly, she felt the implications of what she had just said, of everything that had happened to her up until this point. Her words echoed around in her head: _That is all we need . . . _ Her face crumpled into an awful mess, eyes a dull and horrified black. There were no tears.

"I know this is painful, but it is a good start. As the Potions Mistress, I must know your symptoms so that I can concoct your elixirs correctly." Clémentine spoke quietly, her face the epitome of composure. "Shall I send for Marie?" Unseeing, Ayla nodded, purposely looking out the window opposite Clémentine.

Fifteen to twenty minutes after the Potions Mistress had left the room, a knock announced the entry of a cheerful woman with an amicable, round face, warm hazel eyes, and a tight bun of the finest dark red hair Ayla had ever seen. Vaguely, she wondered if beauty was a requirement for employment at this place.

"Hello. I am Marie. I will be your personal healer for the duration of your staying." While her accent and grammar weren't exactly impeccable, Ayla found it somehow preferable it to the polished, Oxford cool of Clémentine's English. "I apologize, by the way, for whatever Clémentine might have said. She is tends to be -- well, there is a reason why she involves herself more with potions than with people." Coming to the side of the bed, she gave Ayla a small smile. "Would you mind terribly if I sat down near you? I find that sitting across from patients in chairs tends to frighten them and that is not at all what I am wishing."

"Oh, of course." Ayla, having since gained more control over her body, moved over a little. Suddenly, she felt a horrible heat rush up her neck. She looked down under the covers and found that she was clean and dressed in a soft, white cotton nightdress.

"Oh." Marie settled on the edge of the bed, a slightly sheepish look that warmed the girl more than she would have expected. "It must be so strange, but please do not be embarrassed; after all, we are all women here. In any cases, Amandine and me, we had to change and clean you. And your clothing was falling apart, so we did gave you new ones." Ayla nodded. She understood -- really, she did! -- but it didn't stop her face from reddening.

"I see." Marie gave her a quiet look as she suddenly got up to adjust a flower pot atop the desk.

"So how do you like it here so far?" She laughed softly. "I know it hasn't been long, but I suppose it cannot hurt to be asking, no?" Marie's warmth was contagious, Ayla noted, as she felt the corners of her own mouth draw upwards.

"Um, well, it's beautiful here." She looked down at her fidgeting hands, her mouth falling a little. "To be quite honest I never expected to even _get_ here."

"Oh?" Marie picked up a flint and tinder and swiftly set fire to a bundle of sage that lay placidly in a large beechwood dish.

"Yeah." Ayla paused. "Wait, why are you burning that?"

"Dried sage, when burned, gives a nice smell. The old wives say that it can cleanse the soul." The two lapsed into a comfortable silence as Marie came back to sit on the edge of the bed again.

"Hey, Marie?" Ayla bit her lower lip, not daring to look at anything but her lap, just in case her thoughts had somehow become visible. This was, of course, ridiculous and she knew it, but she continued to stare at the fine white blanket.

"Yes?"

"Would it be possible to get some writing supplies? I told Ar -- a good friend that I would send him letters. I feel that I should write one now. Let him know I got here in one piece."

"Oh, I am very sorry, ma chère, but one of our policies is that letters are not allowed until the patient heals a little more. It is a progress that cannot be rushed, unfortunately." Upon seeing Ayla's fallen expression, she added quickly, "But, you said 'he'?" Despite herself, the girl smiled.

"Well, his name is Artie. A little unsure of himself, but a good guy all the same." Marie grinned conspiratorially,

"Oh, tell me more! I am so curious now!" Ayla felt another wave of crimson threaten herself. She suddenly called out, a small grin threatening to break through.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be healing me?" Marie's eyes twinkled mysteriously.

"All in good times, ma chère."

* * *

And so the three fell into a schedule of sorts. Clémentine would come in in the mornings with Ayla's daily elixirs, Marie would follow and the two would talk about all sorts of things (one particularly good conversation was actually concerning the fashion of men's trousers and how they were becoming devastatingly popular in the most horrendous of colors and designs). Then, once a week, the Madam would come in to see how the girl was getting along. 

After about five weeks, Ayla was allowed to walk around the property unchaperoned and was soon able to form some tentative friendships. A few times, Ayla had wanted to go out at night, and after enough persuasive arguing, she was able to go out with Clémentine to help her collect specimens for potions. Soon, it was every night and in two months, Ayla found herself taking out more medical books than she could safely hold. By the time four months had come and gone, Ayla was given the Madame's approval to write letters, but by this time, the desire to do so had waned somewhat, and soon memories of green eyes and silly grins began to fade, though they often invaded her dreams.

By the fifth month, she began to ask Clémentine, despite her cool demeanor, for lessons in elementary potions.

By the sixth month, she was petitioning for an apprenticeship under the frigid Potions Mistress. Despite the woman's demeanor, Ayla knew that she was probably the best in her field. As she began to spend more time with Clémentine, she began to realize the significance of being "the best in her field" -- the woman got away with practically everything! While Ayla often under her breath massaging her tight temples and fiddling with the tight uniform hairstyle, Clémentine simply tossed her loose locks over her shoulder.

Another six months, many therapy sessions, and even more French and Potion-making lessons later, she got her wish.

Unbeknownst to Ayla, for most of this time, discounting her first month and a half, she had been only a courtyard and three rooms away from Queen Lillian, Head Justice of the High Court, though their ignorance would soon be remedied.

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Author's Note: Any spelling errors in speech are to be ignored. Marie's English is supposed to be a little strange, but do let me know if I missed some mistake(s). On another note, it would be absolutely lovely if you'd

**Review**!!! It keeps up a good level of motivation to finish the story well!


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